Death to the High Lords
by Solandriel
Summary: A story based on the events after Dungeon Keeper 2
1. Don't Fear the Reaper

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DUNGEON KEEPER

Death to the High Lords, Part 1: 

Don't Fear the Reaper

The hunched figure of the Mentor, Asmodeus, flickered between light and shadow as he shuffled down the passageway towards his master's domain, a leather tome under one arm, and an ever-writing quill in his free hand. He did not know what he was going to tell Flamuli when he reached the Dungeon Heart. Perhaps he could lie. No. The Master would see right through him. He had a knack for that.

The throbbing that hummed from the Dungeon epicentre grew more intense as he made his way up the central passageway. Imps ran round his feet in legions, fluttering past his black robes. He kicked out at one that got too close, knocking it against the wall. The imp got up and stared at Asmodeus who glared back. "Yes? And?"

The imp squinted and realised who he was staring at. It hobbled off quickly, waving it's pick-axe in the air with frustration. There was a whooshing noise, and the imp sped off to whatever task Flamuli had for it to perform.

As Asmodeus approached the large wooden doors, they swung open before him, and there stood the Dungeon Heart. The sound of it's beat was intense now, hammering against the Mentor's ears as he approached the steps that led to the pit which contained the membrane that dragged in all the magical energy in the chambers around it. Imps tended to the Heart's care, seeing that the support struts that surrounded it were kept clean and free from damage. They dare not go near the heart itself, knowing that they would be absorbed and crushed into oblivion, their magical resonance becoming part of the flow into the heart, feeding their master's power. Asmodeus approached without any such trepidation. He was the only being immune to the Heart's powers, having been granted special permission to enter his Master's domain.

He climbed down into the pit and stood on the centre of the membrane. It felt loathsome beneath his boots, a horrid squelching sound accompanying his attempt to keep his balance. He waited for the horrifying sensation that went with being effectively swallowed by the heart to the chamber hidden below. He could feel his feet sinking in, swiftly followed by the rest of his legs, then his waist and torso, and finally his head. He closed his eyes at this point.

He always expected to be covered in some sort of foul gunge when he emerged on the other side of the bizarre portal. Instead, he floated down to the bottom of an extremely dim single chamber. The walls were decorated with skulls, much like the lairs his Master built for the creatures that were lured to this subterranean realm. Otherwise the walls were fairly plain. The real marvel of this chamber was what was directly in it's centre, the very essence of what the seemingly fragile membrane of the Dungeon Heart was protecting; Flamuli himself.

The swirling body of crimson energy, held within a man sized crystal container, formed itself into a vague face shape, it's eyes glowing to afford emphasis for Asmodeus' benefit. Asmodeus bowed before his Master, his face solemn.

"What news do you have for me, Asmodeus?"

Flamuli's voice had the quality of a snake, it's rasping hiss echoing slightly in the chamber. It had a deadly quality, a malice that was hidden behind it's quietness.

Asmodeus composed himself. He never had got used to that voice. He was lucky that he served so successful a Keeper, one who had put paid to the Avatar two years before, and King Reginald the Just the following year. His plans to invade the Uplanders on their own turf required him to bring the notorious Horned Reaper to his side permanently, but the location of the deadly ally's home had proved elusive for some time. Asmodeus knew that Flamuli would not be pleased with the news he had to give him.

"Quite a few magical items abound, your Lordship," said Asmodeus as cheerily as he could manage. He decided that stalling was better than lying, especially if he used good news to stall with.

"I no longer require such fickle items. My libraries are crammed with such fodder! Have you found the Horned Reaper's temple here?"

Asmodeus bowed his head slightly in an attempt to hide away the look of shame on his face. "No, master."

The distorted face behind the crystal remained unmoving. No mouth could be seen amongst the grotesque features, just the eyes, which seemed to glow much brighter than before. "Asmodeus, I am growing rather impatient at your lack of results."

"That is to be understood, Master, and I also understand your wish to bind the Horned Reaper to our cause utterly, however…"

"Don't tempt your destruction, Asmodeus!" said Flamuli angrily, "I can just as easily get myself another mentor to see to my daily affairs!"

Asmodeus bowed low, his nose almost touching his knees. "My apologies, my Lord."

Flamuli nodded imperceptibly, something that was nothing more than an evil essence should not have been capable of doing. "I suggest we move from here. Make arrangements for a manifestation in the former Snuggledell. That seems a good place to start."

Asmodeus bit his lip and stifled an urge to leave the chamber hurriedly. "Other news has been drawn to my attention regarding the Sunlit Kingdom, my Lord, and you probably will not like it."

The ghost of a frown forced the slit like eyes of Flamuli to become even narrower until they could barely be seen. "And what is this news?"

"It seems that there is a group of Uplanders previously unknown to us who have arisen since the death of King Reginald. They call themselves the High Lords, and they have a grievance with you, Master."

"I'm surprised," said Flamuli, "If it were not for me, they would not be in power now."

"Indeed, my Lord, but they do not share the power they have gained. One of them has claimed supremacy and the title of Avatar, no less."

"The Avatar was a worthy adversary," said Flamuli quietly, "I doubt very much this upstart will give me any trouble."

"Nevertheless, my Lord, they have summoned an army unto themselves, and reclaimed the ruins of the settlements you ransacked. They claim that you are no match for their strength and wits, and that you will never claim the lands back as long as they live."

Asmodeus' words slowly dawned on Flamuli, but they only served to turn the deep red aura of his essence an even deeper shade. "I will not be referred to as a common enemy, I who have crushed whole continents with my powers and my armies! These so-called High Lords shall pay for their words with their lives! Make ready for our journey, but make it Smilesville. I shall enjoy taking their lands over once more. One by one."

An impossibly wide smile spread across Flamuli's spectre-like face. The challenge was called to his supremacy, and it had to be met so that he may keep his honour. Asmodeus bowed and said, "Whom shall we leave in charge here, my Lord?"

"Someone capable. Dekara the Mistress will do nicely. Have her sent to my chamber to receive her instructions."

"Yes, my lord. I remain your humble servant."

Asmodeus turned and made his way back to the centre of the membrane that dominated most of the ceiling of the chamber, giving it a strange, organic look. The Mentor waited with a little trepidation for the equally horrifying return journey to the Dungeon, a little smile playing on his lips. The short but sickly journey was made bearable by the fact that his Master was ready to move on once again. Their time here had been a pleasant but ultimately lazy one.

And he was desperate for something to do.

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	2. Return to Smilesville

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Title: **Death to the High Lords 2 - Return to Smilesville**  
Author: [Solandriel][2] (http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=15002)  


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Death to the High Lords 2:

Return to Smilesville

As three of Flamuli's most powerful Warlocks gathered round the Dungeon Heart, it seemed to beat faster in anticipation. Asmodeus joined his Master within the chamber below the heart's membrane, awaiting the transportation of the Heart to its new location.

The torchlight guttered in the crowded chamber, as the chanting from the Warlocks grew louder and more intense. Imps scurried off into the darkness, and all the denizens of the Dungeon that the Heart was leaving behind were gathered there to wish their Master well. Trolls held their hammers in a salute like soldiers; the Mistresses behind them teasing their skin with the blades on their gloves, making them whimper and jump onto their toes. One of them turned around, it's slack tongue ready with a raspberry stopped in mid-blow as a razor-sharp blade was presented along with a wicked smile.

Green tendrils of Manna began to swirl around the Dungeon Heart, reaching into the darkness where the Imps were hiding. Each tendril grabbed a struggling, squealing Imp, pulling it inexorably towards the Heart. As each Imp touched the membrane, it exploded into a green flare of pure magical energy and was absorbed into the power that was being generated by the Warlocks and the Heart collectively. The tendrils then drew together over the Heart and spread themselves around it like a cocoon being spun by a caterpillar. Then there was a bright surge of light that filled the whole chamber, temporarily blinding everyone and everything there. Bile Demons pushed to the front of the crowd and banged their heads together in a bizarre salute of their own. 

Then, the light dissipated, and the Heart was gone.

The voles scurried around the vast subterranean cave that was the centre of their vast community, hundreds of little furry bodies being carried rapidly on little legs. When the surge of energy invaded their central cave, pushing the earth upward beyond the confines of the cave. Clumps of earth fell from the new, higher ceiling, knocking voles over left, right, and centre.

The green flash that followed obliterated many of the tiny bodies in its path, scattering their component parts whence they came. Those that remained scattered for the tunnels, knowing instinctively that their time here was over.

A large green ball of magical energy settled on the floor of the cave, shrinking down until it became a flat stone disc, embossed with the symbol of the Horned Reaper. The disc, made of obsidian, shattered, exposing the beating Heart of Flamuli. A circle of magical energy elevated itself from the heart, creating the support struts that offered the heart some protection. From the three archways that were formed by the structure sprang four tiny balls of Manna, which floated down and assumed the form of an Imp. They cocked their heads, as if listening to someone, then began to gather up the shattered pieces of obsidian from the floor of the new chamber.

Floating upwards from the Heart's membrane was Asmodeus, a sly smile on his face. It felt good to be back on the campaign trail again. He felt that his Master would stagnate otherwise, until his form disappeared completely through sheer complacency.

"Get digging!" he cried authoritatively. "To the north lies a portal! The Master needs it to gather his army. Move!"

The Imps bowed and scraped at Asmodeus' feet and began to the arduous task of digging out the earth to the Portal that lay nearby. They worked quickly, but it seemed not quickly enough for Flamuli. A large hand appeared from the gloom above the Imps heads, slapping them across the backside. They chattered and dug even faster. The hand moved away, seemingly satisfied.

Eventually, the Imps broke through to a small cave, which contained a deep crack in the ground surrounded by four tall pillars that seemed to be made entirely of quartz. The torches that the Imps placed on the walls around it created dancing colours on the walls as the light was filtered through the crystal.

One of the Imps began to dance at the passage side of the Portal, stamping its tiny feet on the ground. He received another slap for his trouble, making him dance even faster until a livid red smoke exploded from the floor surrounding the portal.

"Good," said the voice of Flamuli, which echoed around the passageways, "It is claimed. Now I can welcome my unholy children!"

As if on cue, a flare of bright light issued forth from the crack at the Portal's centre, and a small green creature, clad in a loincloth and wearing a helmet with a single horn, climbed out of the pit and gazed at his new surroundings. He shifted the grip on his cheaply-made sword and wandered off down the passageway towards the Dungeon Heart, it's ugly, wart covered face surveying the scene with awe.

More Imps had been created and were scurrying around the Dungeon Heart, clearing away the dirt from the digging of another room, which became filled with a mossy green floor that seemed to generate a healing aura that was almost palpable. He walked up to the Heart and touched one of the pillars, and a red glow briefly suffused his body. Knowledge was passed to him through this contact, that he was serving Flamuli, Master of Masters, that he should make his home here, and become one of his legion. The creature accepted gladly, walking into the Lair that Flamuli had just created, stamping his foot down on the floor. A bed grew from the floor like some bizarre houseplant, and the Goblin sat upon it, shaking its head in a daze, as voices whispered in it's head, with promises of riches and bloodshed. The Goblin smiled a crooked smile and awaited its orders.

Other room areas were dug out, as well as seams of gold which lay close-by. Sackfuls of the precious metal were laid around the Heart, feeding the coffers which surrounded it. The Goblin watched the creation going on around him, and could not help but be impressed. He wandered into a training room that had just been created. The spinning figures filled with straw, the moving targets on the walls, the shields and swords that adorned the room were all lit eerily by torchlight. The Goblin took up his sword and began to train.

Then, another area began to fill with the sounds of chickens clucking. The brainless little fowl wandered aimlessly around the sand, occasionally popping into the hen houses at the centre of the room, from which would bounce more eggs hatching quickly on the enchanted soil.

"Excellent work, Asmodeus," echoed the voice of Flamuli, "You have proven yourself swift in the execution of my orders once again."

"It pleases me to serve you, Master. Incidentally, I've been getting reports from the Overlander spies that their numbers are slowly decreasing, and a lot of your creatures from when you were here previously have been captured by the High Lord that rules these parts."

"Then we must find a way of releasing them. How is the portal doing?"

Asmodeus allowed himself a moment's composure. "Not too well, dread Lord. It appears to be producing Goblins hand over fist."

"No matter. A legion of Goblins is better than nothing. I shall inhabit one to see what can be seen beyond my boundaries."

"Very good, Lord." Asmodeus went into the training room to see how the Goblins were doing.

The Goblins were benefiting well from the exercise, growing slowly bigger and stronger as they progressed. A couple waved their swords in the air and wandered off to their lairs, while the other six continued, occasionally breaking for food from the Hatchery.

"The library will help, Master. Drawing in some Warlocks would help us design some other rooms for the Imps to build."

"Yes, Asmodeus, but unfortunately my Imps do not seem to have such knowledge. I cannot have one built."

Oh dear, thought Asmodeus. Then I'd better find one…

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	3. Thirst for Knowledge

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The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. 

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Title: **Death to the High Lords 3: Thirst for Knowledge**  
Author: [Solandriel][2] (http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=15002)  


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Death to the High Lords 3:

Thirst for Knowledge

Asmodeus paced the floor of his makeshift study, waiting for the Imps to build his office up around him. He wondered, not for the first time, how he was going to get his Master out of this particular mess. Without Warlocks, Flamuli's stock of magical attacks was next to useless against the newfound heroes of this land.

The Imps ran round him, putting up shelves, strengthening the walls, and laying down the carpet for the Mentor's study. Their diligent work was being somewhat hampered by his constant pacing but they knew better than to cajole him for it. Instead, they got on with their tasks, trying to maintain their air of timidity.

As two Imps brought in his desk and chair, Asmodeus knew what he had to do. He would have to strike a bargain once more with the elusive Dark Angel and his cohorts to help him discover the location of the High Lord's library so that it could be claimed for their own purposes. He sat down in his newly finished office and set to work, peering into his crystal ball, and glancing at a set of ancient charts, plotting a likely location for the Temple of the Dark Angels to appear.

The crystal ball showed him disturbing images of Sylvan Elves and human Guards, as well as Giants walking through lava in their fireproof boots. Some giants were flanked by Dwarfs who carried pick-axes. They seemed to be unaware of his Masters presence and were patrolling around some sort of structure.

Asmodeus sat in thought as he waved a hand to dismiss the image. Was that the Temple or was it the humans' Library? He did not know for sure, but it gave him some knowledge of what they were facing. He stood and went to the training room. It was empty now, the Goblins advancing as far as they were able. He debated having a Combat Pit built, but that would seriously deplete their gold reserves. He eventually decided to take the retinue as they were. If necessary, he could always teleport back to the Heart if there was too much danger.

He walked into the Lair and was assailed by the loud snores of a dozen Goblins all asleep in their beds. He scowled at the sight of the filthy, ugly creatures before him and barked an order for them all to wake up. They did so reluctantly, clambering out of bed and stretching as though they had only been asleep for five minutes. Asmodeus sighed with resignation. It was obviously quiet enough for them at the moment without being ordered about by some hunched figure in black robes waving a staff about.

"Gather round, all of you!" said Asmodeus authoritatively. They did so. Slowly. "I have called you all together to act as my bodyguards for a journey through the Underworld that will take us into possibly occupied territory. As far as I can tell, you outnumber the enemy two to one. Gather your weapons and meet me at the easternmost point of the Dungeon." He left the chamber, a gabble of Goblin-speak going on behind him.

It was not every day that a pair of Imps could scurry along the corridor around Asmodeus' feet and not get kicked, but the Mentor's mind was elsewhere as he prepared to undertake a journey that could potentially end his long and illustrious career, and possibly his life. The Dark Angels were not to be trifled with, and he dealt with them very rarely. To make it even more difficult, their presence in the realm they were currently beneath was scarce in the extreme, and because of this, Asmodeus knew he would not be able to recruit them. Instead, he would concentrate on bribing them for information, and that meant a sacrifice. He just had to make sure that it was one of the Goblins who were on the receiving end and not him.

The Mentor and his Imps reached the eastern wall where the party of Goblins was waiting for them, their helms mostly worn crookedly, their swords gripped in their sweating hands. They milled about, shuffling their feet nervously like naughty schoolboys waiting outside a headmaster's office. Some of them had the suspicion that they would not be coming back. The others had a half-hearted confidence about themselves that they would win through and return home in glory. Of course, these Goblins were more optimistic about battle than most others of their kin. Or just very stupid.

Asmodeus gestured to the Imps and they began to dig at the eastern wall. He stepped away from the fragments of flying rock as the Imps broke through and began to tunnel rapidly through the bare earth behind the wall. Their experience allowed them to cast their haste-self spells, and Asmodeus and his retinue had trouble keeping up with the Imps as they dug and placed torches with breakneck speed. Asmodeus gave up on running and watched the Imps disappear into the distance.

After a few moments, they were quickly running back the other way. One of the speeding Imps knocked a Goblin head over heels as it ran past them, followed closely by its companion. There was a shout from up ahead, like a battle-cry, and out of the shadows emerged a knight clad in shimmering plate armour, running at the surprised Goblins, followed by three guards in chainmail, waving their spears in the air. The Goblins were lent a certain amount of courage by their numbers, but Asmodeus knew it would not last for long if their numbers dwindled.

The two groups engaged, a thrust from the knight's blade impaling a Goblin in his middle. Three other Goblins closed around the knight, trying to find the weak points in his armour. The guards joined their superior, charging forward with their spears, which were deflected by some lucky parrying from the rest of the Goblins.

Asmodeus watched the fight from a safe distance, wondering if taking his Masters entire forces was wise for this exploration. Two more Goblins had fallen and the situation was looking desperate.

At last, after several strikes pummelling against his armour, the knight fell to the tunnel floor. A sword through the gorget, spitting his throat, finished him off. The three guards lost heart and, outnumbered three to one, fell to the newly confident Goblins. Their whoops of delight echoed down the tunnel as Imps teleported in from the Heart to take away the wounded Goblins and get them back to their lairs. With nine left in his retinue, a slightly nervous Asmodeus hurried his troops on, the Imps following in his wake, claiming the tunnel floor as they went.

As they walked on, the tunnel ahead echoed with the sound of roaring flames. The heat in the tunnel grew rapidly as it began to open out to reveal a lake of lava with a stone building on an island in the centre. Alcoves in the walls of the building hid cannon-like sentry traps in their shadowy depths. Small islands surrounding the building were populated by small groups of Sylvan Elves. Asmodeus counted seven archers in plain sight, with probably more hidden round the other side of the building. Worst of all, tramping through the lava in their huge protective footgear were half a dozen Giants, swinging their spiked clubs lazily.

"Oh, for a troop of Dark Elves," Asmodeus muttered miserably. He looked at the building once more and saw the huge stone statue of the Hand of the Dark Gods poking above the walls. "Hmm. It is the Temple of the Dark Angels. If only I could get at least one of the Goblins into their pool." He could not see the door to the Temple anywhere on this side of it. He had to make his way round with nine chatty and inquisitive Goblins without being seen. He requisitioned his two diggers and they made their way through the earth, keeping some between themselves and the deadly patrols in the lava.

They dug through a section of earth, opening it up to reveal that the lava continued into a stream that flowed through the caverns heading south on a slight slope. One Goblin did not notice until it had fallen into the lava, and by then it was too late. The Goblin screamed briefly as it was obliterated by the molten rock. The scream was short, but enough to alert one of the Giants as it moved nearby. He clanged his way through the lava and met several sword points that skewered him through the chest. The body fell into the lava without a sound, and Asmodeus let out a sigh of relief. However, his relief was short lived as an arrow thudded into the wall behind his head. He ducked back with the goblins into the tunnel, arrows and energy bolts flying thick and fast.

"Master, we need a bridge, quickly!"

Flamuli's voice echoed inside Asmodeus' head. "Of course, Asmodeus, but don't think of coming back here until you have the information you seek!"

Asmodeus cringed at the slightly angry tone of his Master's voice, but soon shook it off as the bridge appeared in a flourish of magical energy. The Elves saw the bridge appearing in front of them. One of them tried to jump over to it, but fell into the lava. One of the islands was flush with the bridge and the three Elves upon it walked out onto it, their bows held at the ready. They began firing as the Goblins rushed out from their hiding place. One Goblin was hit in the chest by a shaft, but the others overran the Elves and cut them down quickly. The slow, cumbersome giants were still out in the lava and turned to try and catch the Goblins as they ran up to the door and began battering on it.

Asmodeus remained hidden, watching the progress of the Goblins round the side of the tunnel. One of the Giants spotted him, however, and roared a challenge, heading straight for him through the lava. Asmodeus had no choice but to join the rest of the Goblins outside the door. The door was proving difficult to break down. When it began to spit fireballs, Asmodeus realised that it was a Magic Door capable of defending itself. The blast took down two more Goblins, and the others were close to breaking point, ready to run at any moment.

"Come on!!" screamed Asmodeus, "Break it down!!"

The Giants were almost upon them. They clambered out of the lava, their boots dripping with red-hot magma. Seven huge, angry and blood-thirsty men, their faces covered with warts, got ready to swing their clubs down to crush all before them. The Goblins, in their desperation to get away, ran into the door with all their strength, finally forcing it off its hinges. The clubs missed them all except for one Goblin who got a scrape from the spikes.

They entered the splendour of the Temple, the braziers around the pool burning an intense blue, lighting the water eerily, and casting flickering shadows around the pillars and walls. There was no time for Asmodeus and the Goblins to admire the scenery, however, as the Giants lumbered in after them.

The retinue ran to the other side of the Temple and turned to face their pursuers, knowing that there was no escape. Asmodeus looked at the pool that glittered invitingly before him. He grinned wickedly and grabbed the nearest Goblin and threw him into the water. Immediately the Goblin hit the pool, he squealed as the liquid made him dissolve like an ice cube in boiling water. The huge stone hand groaned as it came to life and clenched itself into a fist. Asmodeus, the Goblins and the Giants watched mesmerised as the hand opened, releasing five globes of glowing magical energy. As they floated down towards the pool, a booming voice could be heard.

"Flamuli, Dread Lord of the Underworld, your sacrifice is welcome. We are at your service." The globes sank into the water.

The surface of the water erupted where the energy had struck it, and five deadly winged forms flew up to the ceiling, holding their broadswords aloft, yelling a cry of pleasure. They saw the Giants below and gestured with taloned hands. A swirl of dust and energy appeared before each Giant, and skeletons appeared in front of them, three to each Giant.

The Dark Angels laughed delightedly as the Giants panicked and swung their clubs wildly at the Skeleton hoards. Several Skeletons were smashed into fragments by the frantic blows. The Dark Angels' leader, who wore a golden breastplate beside the others, who were bare-chested, looked at the others and said, "It seems we must deal with them personally, brothers!"

They swooped down as one towards the waiting Giants and, almost in unison, decapitated a Giant each with a single blow. The two remaining Giants were hopelessly outclassed, and tried to escape, but the Angels did not spare them their wrath. They were sliced in half by the Temple's guardians before they could reach the Temple doors. With great roars of delight, the Angels gathered up the fallen carcasses of the Giants and threw them into the pool, turning the lurid waters red for a brief moment. The red dissipated as the Temple seemed to absorb the blood into itself.

Asmodeus straightened his robes as the Dark Angels landed and sheathed their swords into the scabbards on their backs. "Greetings, Dark Ones. Whom am I addressing?"

The leader stepped forward. The Goblins cowered down behind Asmodeus, trying in vain to hide themselves behind the hunched figure. "I am Zalador, chief guardian to the Legions of the Damned and their Temple." He glanced across at the broken doors and saw an Imp performing its dance of claiming. "Stop!" shouted Zalador, unleashing a devastating disruption spell that destroyed the Imp on the spot. Only a pair of smoking boots remained.

"None may claim this Temple. It is sanctified to the Legions of the Damned."

"My Master is also their servant," explained Asmodeus, "To serve him is to serve the Dark Gods."

"No Dungeon Keeper may lay claim to that status, Asmodeus. We know that you and your Master are practically legendary in the Underworld, but you are far from Gods."

Asmodeus bowed in deference. "We merely seek information, and possibly an alliance with you."

"Information is freely given, but an alliance would cost you dearly. Every life here would have to surrender itself to make Flamuli worthy of our help. We serve no one out of loyalty. We serve only those who can please the Legions."

It suddenly occurred to Asmodeus that the Dark Gods were being mentioned separately from the Legions of the Damned. What made them two separate and distinct entities? "If information is freely given, we will take it gladly, but my Master cannot afford the alliance he needs at this time. We need a Library, preferably one that is not guarded too heavily."

Zalador laughed heartily. "You will find one just to the north of here, but as you will soon find, it is heavily guarded. And if all you have is Goblins, then I suggest you find another way to defeat High Lord Lawrence in the land above."

"Huh! The only other way with the forces we have is to summon the Horned Reaper, and we no longer have the talisman. It was destroyed along with King Reginald in the final battle of the Sunlit Kingdom."

Zalador shrugged. "Our part of the bargain has been fulfilled. Now we shall take our leave. Go with the Legions' favour." The Dark Angel turned and walked back to the pool with the rest of his fellows, stepping into the water. They transformed into the five globes of energy once more and floated up into the great stone hand that sprouted from the centre of the pool. The fist closed around them and the energy disappeared from between the fingers. The hand opened once more to reveal that nothing remained behind.

Asmodeus breathed a sigh of relief, then cursed as he saw three Goblin bodies lying motionless near the Temple doors. His Master's retinue was now down to six Goblins, assuming the Imps got the three injured ones back in time.

The Mentor led the way from the Temple, his thoughts dark and expecting the worst. For how could his Master ever hope to conquer here with the precious few he had left standing up against so many?

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	4. Malice and Motivation

Death to the High Lords 4:

Malice and Motivation

Asmodeus and the remainder of his troop returned to the relative safety of the Dungeon, licking their wounds yet feeling triumphant. The Dungeon's garrison was back to full strength thanks to the attraction of the Portal, it's crystal pillars glowing gently in the torchlight as they marched past.

The Mentor headed straight for the Dungeon Heart. Imps avoided his every step; word travelled fast in the Imp community and they had heard that Asmodeus had received a hammering from the local heroes. Everywhere he looked, there were Goblins walking the corridors, a far cry from the beautifully terrifying creatures that used to grace his master's halls and corridors. Oh, how he missed the wicked laughter of the Dark Mistresses as they pleasured themselves in his Master's torture chambers; the stealthy movement of the Rogues; the sylph-like Dark Elves and their grace in long-range combat. The only thing he did not miss was the vile, globulous Bile Demons and their awful smelling habits, not to mention their leathery backsides scraping along the dungeon floor as they knuckled their way through the passageways to the only thing they cared about - the Hatchery.

Asmodeus passed through the membrane of the Dungeon Heart to his Master's chamber and bowed before Flamuli. The Keeper was resting within his crystal, soothed by the beating of the Heart. Asmodeus coughed politely. The slit-like gaps in the smoky substance of Flamuli that served for his eyes slowly opened. A wicked smile graced his mouth.

"Welcome back, Asmodeus. I see that you have survived unscathed as usual in your errand. Do you have my library?"

"No, my lord, but we have it's location. Alas, my forces were whittled down so much that I could not pursue it straight away. You see, I had to track down a band of Dark Angels to help us in the search."

"Hmm, they are fickle beasts, Asmodeus. Not to be trusted if they do not serve a Keeper."

"They may not serve a Keeper, Master. However, neither do they serve the Dark Gods."

If Flamuli had eyebrows, they would have shot up in surprise. "Then they are leaderless."

"Not entirely, Lord. They serve the Legions of the Damned, another branch of hellish deities that exist on one of the Netherworld planes. I have yet to resolve who these beings are, but they could prove useful if we can ally with them."

"Indeed, Asmodeus. You have done well. We will seek to contact these Legions once we have further knowledge of them, and for that, we will require that library."

"Yes, Lord, however, it is more than likely guarded by Wizards, and Goblins are notorious for being afraid of Wizards."

Flamuli seemed to consider this. "Then we must seek to rescue the stronger forces that are imprisoned here. Scry for possible positions, and we shall seek to dig them out of their prisons."

"At once, my Lord."

Asmodeus left the chamber and made his way to his study, glancing through the odd doorway here and there. The Dungeon was really taking shape now, but many of the rooms he saw were standing unused because they lacked the creatures with the skills to use them. The workshop stood empty, it's tools lying on workbenches uselessly gathering dust. The fresh compliment of Goblins were training, the clang of swords striking targets accompanied by the grunts of the creatures hitting them. Only himself and the Imps seemed the busiest here, as hordes of the little creatures worked on the finishing touches to the torture chamber, fixing leather restraints onto the circular tables, filling a vat with hot coals beneath a revolving wheel, and mopping up the blood from the test subjects that Flamuli had placed in there. Most of the Goblins could be found in the Casino now, gambling their meagre wages away on a fruitless gamble when they were not sleeping noisily in their beds.

He sat down at his desk, removing the velvet cover from his crystal ball, waving his hands idly over it. The mists within cleared and revealed a large stone chamber, lit by the sun streaming in through the window. Pacing the room was a man in more than familiar garb - the new proclaimed Avatar in his red and yellow livery and plate armour on his shoulders and shins. A broadsword swayed slightly at his hip as he paced, mouthing something at two Wizards who were listening patiently. Asmodeus concentrated, focusing his powers, and eventually, he began to hear…

_______________________________________________________

"When did he re-enter this realm? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Avatar Brandicor's voice thundered at the Wizards who flinched at his scathing verbal assault.

"Well, your Lordship…" began Grell, one of the Wizards, but he was cut very short by another outburst.

"Highness! How many times do I have to tell you? It's Highness!"

Grell glanced at his companion, Melkum. They exchanged a significant look. Their Avatar was displaying precisely the sort of traits that the previous holder of the title did not; ambition, selfishness and a total lack of understanding of his people. Many of the serfs who tended his vast lands often said they would rather live under the yoke of an oppressor like Flamuli because at least then you knew where you stood. When the Avatar was your dictator, you felt more stood _on_.

"I beg forgiveness, Highness," stammered Grell, "But the fact remains that Flamuli's powers have grown to such an extent that he is able to place himself directly beneath our noses."

The Avatar nodded slowly. "Then we should remove this troublesome flyspeck!"

"Highness, that may not be so simple." Melkum regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth.

The Avatar turned on him. "I am Avatar of these lands, the greatest hero, the mightiest of the foes of Evil. I will strike him down. Or I will burn every inch of the old underground domains until nothing remains for him to build in!"

Grell and Melkum stared at the Avatar in disbelief. It was as though the man was possessed by a zeal that no Lord or King had ever shown before against the Keepers. They neglected to inform Brandicor of the new uprisings from the realms below that had sprung in Flamuli's absence, and the fact that Flamuli himself was threatening the borders of Smilesville. Their Avatar would only want to march in with sword swinging and get himself killed which, no matter how much the people hated him, would throw the population into chaos. How odd, that the people could rally around a title. There was a time that people rallied around a man.

The two Wizards bowed their heads in acquiescence. "We shall do all we can strive to…"

"Wait!" Grell interrupted Melkum with a hand on his shoulder. He glanced around the room, touching his temple, his eyes squinted in concentration. "I think we're being scried."

"What?" bellowed Brandicor. The Wizards ignored him. Grell looked up at the ceiling…

__________________________________________

And stared straight into Asmodeus' eyes. Asmodeus waved his hands over the image to dismiss it. Sweat had broken out on the Mentor's forehead. Had Grell really seen him? Did this mean they would be expecting visitors? They had to run the risk of attracting attention anyway, and the investigating he was hoping to do was cut short by Grell's intrusion. The thought of Dwarfs tunnelling down towards them with reinforcements did not bear thinking about. They had to move against the library without aid.

Asmodeus leapt up from his chair and marched to the lair, where most of the Goblins were sleeping. The few veterans that remained were fully healed and ready for more sleeping, much to his disappointment. Well, it's time for them to be disappointed, he thought. "Wake up!" he shouted.

Several green heads popped up from underneath blankets. When they saw who was addressing them, they hastily clambered out of bed, planted their helmets on their heads, and stood to attention.

"That's more like it. Now, we move against the Uplanders' library today."

There were assorted squeals of protest.

"None of that! We will strike terror into the hearts of it's guardians, and we will claim their knowledge for our own. Once it is claimed, then we will be able to attract Warlocks with the promise of arcane knowledge." He glanced around at the Goblins' blank expressions and he knew that once again he'd lost them completely. He sighed. One day, I will be able to hold a conversation with someone here, he thought. "Oh, let's just go and fight!"

To this, the Goblins actually cheered. Well, some of them.

Asmodeus led the way from the lair with his thirteen strong retinue of Goblins marching in some sort of order behind him. They were happier than most Goblins because they didn't have creatures of higher station picking on them all the time. Asmodeus was not classed as a creature because he was an ever present element in their existence. But others such as Mistresses, Bile Demons and Trolls picked on them incessantly. They were glad to be serving somewhere where they could get some peace and quiet for a change.

They walked outside the confines of the Dungeon walls. Asmodeus winced at the lack of protection they had where their area met the lava streams. There were no Trolls to help them with manufacturing, and try as he might, he could not get the Goblins to do anything in the workshop. They just did not have the brains.

They stepped cautiously past the Temple of the Dark Angels, fearful that more of their number may be consumed by the pool's minions. But they passed on in peace and headed north until they reached a dirt wall, which was rapidly disintegrated by a pair of Imps that teleported out of nowhere.

They continued on their journey, dodging flying clumps of earth, and suddenly, the earth parted to reveal a cave, in which was a doorway. Asmodeus recognised the sigils that adorned the magic door. They would have to be careful how they approached.

The Goblins decided that brute force was all that was necessary, and so they charged headlong at the undefended door. Fireballs immediately began to spit forth from the centre of the door, and by the time they managed to batter the door to pieces, three Goblins lay unconscious. What greeted them on the other side of that door, the Goblins were not prepared for.

Four Wizards were happily pouring over their scrolls and book until they heard the hammering. The magic door had given them plenty of time to prepare their spells, so when they saw the door reduced to matchwood, they let fly with a fireball each, all of which hit the same Goblin, reducing him to his component parts and showering the ones behind him in green blood. If it were not for the fact that they needed the library and death was the consequences of failure, they would have turned tail and fled that instant. They ran into the room, the Wizards using the bookshelves as cover as they threw more fireballs.

Two more Goblins fell with horrible burns on their chests, barely alive and being dragged away by helpful Imps. With any luck, they will live to fight another day, thought Asmodeus as he watched the battle. If there is another day.

The situation was becoming desperate.

It was while he was thinking about how to tell his Master that he had failed for the first time in his life, that he noticed that one of the Imps was climbing up on top of a stalactite that had grown nearby. It was tapping away at the loose earth in the ceiling.

"What on earth are you doing?" he shouted up at it.

As the earth fell in on top of the Imp, squashing it flat, Asmodeus hid in the passageway as several figures fell towards the floor of the cave. He felt sure his end was nigh.

Then the screams began…

_____________________________________________________________


	5. No Pain, No Gain

Death to the High Lords 5:

No Pain, No Gain

The screams echoed throughout the chamber as the figures landed on the dirt path. Asmodeus chanced a glance from his hiding place and his eyes almost popped out of his head as he spied the most perfect pair of female buttocks he had ever seen parted by a leather thong. He grinned and emerged from the passageway. He was going to enjoy this.

Seven Dark Mistresses, in all their leather-clad glory, were also grinning evilly as they saw the cowering Wizards who were feeling triumphant only moments before. They raised their hands in unison and let fly with several lightning bolts, aimed straight at one of the four old men. That amount of energy coursing through him made him keel over on the spot before the spell had finished it's work, his body twitching, but his heart silent. The other three retaliated with fireballs, which the lithe maidens easily avoided through their graceful movements. Two of the Mistresses darted into the room, laying open the throats of two of the Wizards, leaving one muttering prayers in the corner. They closed slowly on him, laughing heartily, their razor sharp glove-knives nicking little wounds into his skin. The Wizard was moaning with pain, beyond the ability to cast a spell. Asmodeus chuckled to himself in the doorway of the library, listening with rapt pleasure to the unusual combination of screaming and giggling coming from the back of the room.

Imps scurried into view. They knew it was now safe to approach, stamping their tiny feet in a frenzy to claim the paths around the library as fast as possible.

The Mistresses eventually emerged, having had their fun, and approached Asmodeus who smiled broadly at them. One of them broke from the group, smiled sweetly at the Mentor and promptly slapped him in the face with her unarmed hand. The Imps who were scurrying around froze in their tracks, staring with their already wide, black eyes at the Mistress and Asmodeus. They scurried away, wondering what wrath the Mentor was going to unleash at this insult.

Asmodeus looked deadly serious for a moment, then said, "Turn around." The Mistress obliged him, bending over slightly, and he slapped her bottom savagely. She let out a moan of pleasure.

"Ooh, Asmodeus, it's been too long," she purred.

"Welcome back to our Master's domain, Jella," said Asmodeus, "Come. Your chamber awaits you."

Jella and her sisters giggled a cacophony, following Asmodeus into the tunnel.

________________________________________________

Avatar Brandicor stood before his mirror, a tiny pair of scissors in his hand, trimming the unsightly hair that had taken to growing out of his nostrils. He was becoming impatient with a particularly stubborn hair that seemed to him to be hiding. A knock at the door made his concentration slip and he made a tiny cut on the end of his nose. He roared with anger rather than pain and snatched up a towel to staunch the surprising flow of blood that issued forth.

"Enter," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the towel.

Grell poked his head round the door, his conical hat in his hand. He saw the towel on his master's face and said, as prudently as he could, "I'll come back later, Highness, you're obviously busy."

"Wait," said Brandicor irritably, "Obviously whatever you wanted to see me about was of some importance or you would not have come to see me."

"Honestly, Highness, it can…"

"Grell!"

"As you wish, Highness," he said meekly, fiddling with the brim of his hat. He shuffled into the room like a naughty schoolboy awaiting a spanking from the headmaster's cane. "We have had a problem with one of our garrisons to the south."

Brandicor raised an eyebrow. So it wasn't to be good news then, he thought. "And this problem is?"

"The floor caved in…right beneath the prison, and…"

Brandicor's face began to colour. If the redness gets any brighter, there'll be steam, I know it, thought Grell. "Go on." The Avatar's voice was unusually calm.

"Flamuli's troop of Dark Mistresses escaped, Highness," blurted the Wizard. He cringed, hardly daring to breath. His eyes flicked around to see if Brandicor had his predecessor's sword nearby.

Brandicor slowly lowered the towel from his face. The cut had stopped bleeding and began to scab over. "I see," he said, the colour returning to normal in his face.

"Highness? What are we to do about this? Smilesville is vulnerable now that Flamuli has the Mistresses back with him."

Brandicor waved his hand for silence. "What may be a weakness for us is a weakness for them as well. Have Lord Melville and his troops invade Flamuli's stronghold."

"But is Lord Melville is killed, then…"

"Then another craven upstart is thwarted from vaunting my position. See to it Grell, and be quick about it before the Keeper plugs up the hole."

"At once, Highness," said Grell, bowing and grovelling as he left the room. Melkum was waiting outside.

"How did it go?" asked Melkum.

"Better than I expected," said Grell with some surprise.

"Does that mean that I don't have to deliver the message next time?"

____________________________________________________

Jella and her 'sisters', as they liked to call themselves, inspected their torture chamber with a great deal of admiration. The attention to detail was immaculate, she remarked later, right down to the bloodstains that already adorned the floor. Asmodeus left them to have their fun.

In his Master's chamber, Flamuli was a pleasant shade of blue when they conversed about their latest gain. The Keeper was very pleased to note that the Warlocks were arriving through the portal quite speedily. Four of them were doing their studious work, gifting the Imps with their knowledge, and the Mentor and the Keeper with the spells that had been lost to them in their re-emergence into the Sunlit Kingdom.

"Now one thing only remains to be done," said Flamuli in his rasping voice.

"And what is that, my Lord?" Asmodeus said with a little smile.

"To find the Horned Reaper's temple and bind him to our cause. His power is the key to bathing the land above in blood."

"That is very true, sir, but unfortunately, as you know, we lost the talisman which we could call him by."

"The talisman does not concern me at this time. I am growing weary of campaigning, Asmodeus. My energies cannot last much longer. An all out war, even one in which I am ultimately the victor, could finish me."

"Nonsense, Lord. You are in your prime."

"Exactly. I am glad that Jella and her sisters of pain are back with us once more, but even they may not be powerful enough to bring me that victory swiftly. I need the Reaper."

"Yes, my Lord. I am doing all I can."

"Very well, Asmodeus. You may go."

Asmodeus bowed to Flamuli's glowing form floating within it's crystal chamber and shuffled off to float out of the chamber. As he made his way back to his study, he could not help but have a feeling of dread. His Master's words troubled him. He had never heard Flamuli be so defeatist before. There were times when the Keeper came close to defeat, but he always found a way out of trouble. And now he was speaking as though he were ready for retirement.

The Mentor sat down at the desk and glanced absently through a few scrolls. He threw them aside, their contents holding little interest. He sighed. He could understand how his Master felt. 

Immortality could be extremely boring. Even for a Dungeon Keeper.

_______________________________________________


	6. Arrival of the Rival

Death to the High Lords 6:

Arrival of the Rival

The explosion of power in the empty cavern was intense, enough to blind any creature that dwelt within. The orb of energy that settled into the ground in the centre of the chamber flattened to reveal the obsidian disk that covered a Dungeon Heart. The disc exploded into shards, pieces of the semi-precious stone littering the floor. They slowly disintegrated.

A ring of green Manna rose from the throbbing heart, creating the familiar stonework of the three arches. Imps emerged from the power source of this new arrival, landing on the ground and starting work immediately, claiming the bare earth around it.

Rising out of the Dungeon Heart rose a portly man dressed in the black robes of a Mentor, the helper of the Keeper who dwelt beneath the beating membrane. He looked around himself officiously, throwing back his cowl to reveal a human face, the goatee beard trimmed neatly to counteract the lack of hair atop the Mentor's head.

"Everything seems to be in good order," said the Mentor. His voice was a soprano in comparison to Asmodeus' deep tones.

"Excellent, Brachus," cried an undeniably female voice. "We should find Flamuli somewhere within the Sunlit Kingdom, and Smilesville seems a good place to start."

"I have it on good authority that he is here, Mistress."

"And whose authority is that, Brachus?"

Brachus smiled wickedly. "I have friends in high places as well as low ones, Mistress."

"Very well. Make preparations. We need to find a portal as quickly as possible. Flamuli commands complete loyalty from all his creatures, so we must recruit swiftly. Let the Underworld know that Calisto has made her home!"

____________________________________________________

The chill running through Asmodeus' spine told him that somewhere in the underworld, a rival Keeper was making their presence felt. He had not felt such an energy surge in a long time, having long since eradicated, or so they thought, all his Master's rivals in the Underworld.

The troubled frown that crested his forehead did not waver as he descended into the Dungeon Heart to deliver the news of this latest development, and Flamuli noticed immediately.

"Something troubles you, Asmodeus," hissed the Keeper, unable to hide a look of amusement in his transparent face.

"Indeed, Master. A rival Keeper has made their nest below Smilesville. We may have to pass through him to get to…"

"Her," Flamuli broke in, startling Asmodeus with his certainty.

"Her, Master?"

"Yes. Calisto plagues me once more."

"Calisto? But she was destroyed by Lord Sigmund some years ago."

"Ah, not so, Asmodeus. Her creatures staged a rear guard action as her Warlocks spirited her away. She commanded so much loyalty from her creatures, that they were willing to die for her. Many creatures seemed to feel that way about her. Even me." Flamuli looked almost wistful.

Asmodeus looked faintly worried.

"There will never be another opponent like Calisto," Flamuli rambled on. "She and I have shared a healthy sense of competition. And we have always kept to the forms. She's almost a better cheat than I am."

"Erm, Master, the fact that she is here disturbs me. Where has she been hiding all this time without an inkling of her presence? My scrying seeks out our own kind as well as the people of the land above. Yet not a sign of her."

"Perhaps she left this plane altogether," Flamuli conjectured, his voice slowly becoming more business like.

"Perhaps, but a Keeper cannot survive like that for very long. They must soon descend once more into shadow to rejuvenate themselves."

"Very true, Asmodeus. Well, we must make preparations to leave here. We are not powerful enough to confront her in this realm."

"But we must slay Lord Lawrence before we go anywhere, Master! We cannot leave an enemy at our backs as we retreat!"

"I know, Asmodeus. We're going to let Calisto do the work for us!"

Flamuli's fog-like face spread wide in a malicious grin.

_____________________________________________________

Lord Lawrence, at this time, was lounging in his makeshift fort, overseeing the construction of a new Hero Gate. Designed loosely on the fragmented reports held in now long lost tomes and treatises on portals, the Hero Gate worked, after a fashion. Many people, Giants and guards in particular, hated going through them because they felt sure that a little piece of their soul was being extracted as they came out the other side. The fact that the other side involved being in the Underworld, realm of every hideous and bloodthirsty creature imaginable - according to their still remembered bedtime stories - then the chances of emerging from the dreadful place with that same soul intact were very slim indeed. Astronomical, in fact.

The two Wizards that were sweating with exertion at the huge levels of magic involved in creating the Hero Gate did not notice their Lord's approach until they almost collapsed with exhaustion.

"We just cannot do it," panted one of them plaintively, "The Manna in this area is being drained quite heavily. It is possible that there is more than one force at work here."

"No," said his Lordship with a confidence bordering on arrogance, "It is Flamuli. He has found another way of purging this land of it's energies."

"A pity really," said the other Wizard, "They had only just recovered from the last battering."

"Then the only way to take him out is by sheer brute force!" Lord Lawrence had that madman's glint in his eye as the prospect of a good slaughter crossed his slightly deranged mind. Three months underground is enough to drive the purest Knight insane.

"Then we must mobilise our forces, my Lord," said the first Wizard, "The Hero Gate is almost complete."

"Good. I want a troop of half a dozen guards, four giants, some fairies for magical back-up. There's no way you two can join in, you're too tired. Head back to the land above through the gate once the others have come through."

The two Wizards bowed gratefully and turned towards the gate, muttering a few incomprehensible words. A bright light flared out from beneath the arches and the troops began to arrive with the sound of clanking armour and rumbling footfalls. Lord Lawrence called his troops over as the Fairies arrived clasping their wands. One of the Wizards flashed a well timed glance upward and caught a brief glimpse of shapely thigh disappearing into the flimsy white robe of one of the Fairies. Unfortunately, she noticed and quickly made amends by freezing the Wizard's nose, making an icicle hang off the end of it. The other Wizard smirked as the sound of tinkling laughter disappeared into the distance.

Then the Wizards entered the gate and vanished in a brilliant flash of light.

________________________________________________

Imps were being beaten almost senseless as Calisto sped up the creation of her new underground empire. The portal had already been claimed and half her rooms were built, but the idea of reclaiming her previous retinue was as dust in the wind. Never again would she see the likes of her grand army from years before, shattered as it was by Lord Sigmund and his happy band. Flamuli had avenged the losses for her, but at a cost to her dignity, and that rankled more than anything else.

But the vengeance meant nothing, didn't it?, she told herself. After all, Flamuli was an enemy, a hated rival. Both being made of pure evil essence meant that neither entertained any ambitions of forming an alliance. And yet, she could not help but wonder…

"Brachus! How goes the construction?" she cried, turning her thoughts away from such vile sentimentality.

"Very well, Mistress," intoned Brachus, "However, we cannot construct a Temple without angering the local Dark Angels. They seem to have their own agenda and do not want any outside influences interfering."

"I see. Then we had better see what price we may have to pay."

"Mistress?"

"Everything has a price, Brachus. Even the Dark Angels."

Brachus raised his eyebrows, but chose prudently to remain silent. Lives would be the price, he knew that. But would his Mistress be willing to pay?

___________________________________________________

The two Dwarfs leading Lord Lawrence to the walls of what he believed to be Flamuli's home hardly broke a sweat as they dug feverishly through the forgiving earth. The prospect of hanging around for the fighting was not a thought they relished and they had already discussed beforehand their escape at the most convenient moment possible. Dwarfs loved gold and fighting, but they were not stupid. They valued their lives almost as much as their gold.

The earth fell away either side of them until their pick-axes came across the unmistakable solidity of a wall. Lord Lawrence grinned with satisfaction.

"Go on!" he said with vigour, "Break it down!"

The two Dwarfs looked at each other, glanced upwards and shook their heads, and began battering at the reinforced earth. The hammering was not lost on the inhabitants inside the walls, and a black-robed figure tried his best to run down the corridor, despite his bulk. He entered the Heart chamber and ran up to the crystal home of Calisto.

"Mistress, we are…"

"Yes, I know," said Calisto, the bright turquoise clouds that gave her substance holding an utterly crestfallen expression. "We are attacked."

"What shall we do?"

Calisto looked Brachus directly in the eye. "We must do the unthinkable."

_________________________________________________


	7. The Unwanted Alliance

****

Death to the High Lords 7:

The Unwanted Alliance

Flamuli could hear the call on the very edge of his consciousness. It was a voice that he had not heard for over a hundred years. A voice that had haunted his most wonderful nightmares for all that time.

"Flamuli! Flamuli! I bid you in the name of the Keeper's Law. Come to my aid! Our cause is the same. Ally with me!" Calisto's voice sounded almost desperate in her plea. And when the dreaded words 'Keeper's Law' were mentioned, Flamuli knew he could not back down.

"Calisto…" said Flamuli almost to himself. "Asmodeus!" The cry for his Mentor echoed through every single chamber in the ancient Keeper's dungeon. Asmodeus raised his head from his scrying. He had been watching the fighting that was going on in Calisto's corridors, and her demise was almost imminent.

"You called, Master?" he said absently, his attention distracted by the sight of High Lord Lawrence battering at Calisto's steel door.

"Asmodeus, mobilise our troops. Calisto has called for an alliance."

Asmodeus smirked. "Let her be smashed to pulp, Master. It would be one more out of the way, and High Lord Lawr…."

"Asmodeus, I do not expect you to argue with me about matters of Keeper's Law. Do it!"

Keeper's Law?, thought Asmodeus. But such a thing has not been declared since their first campaigns. Surely the Master has lost his senses. "At once, Master," he said instead, and dismissed the image on his scrying ball. He leapt up from his desk and made his way to the Lair. There, Jella and her Sisters of Pain were resting after a hard day's torturing. Several Goblins were lying in their beds, groaning with pain.

"Come on!" shouted Asmodeus, throwing healing spells around the room at the ravaged Goblins. "Up and at them! We've got to rescue a fellow Keeper. Calisto has called for an alliance under Keeper's Law. I'm not sure how long it will last."

"Huh!" said Jella with contempt, "Why doesn't he just let her rot!"

"Because Flamuli has to honour this, or risk the anger of the Dark Gods. And remember, you _cannot_ harm any of Calisto's minions. Is that understood?"

Jella looked very disappointed. "Oh! Not even an Imp or two?"

"No, Jella! You heard me!"

Jella nodded reluctantly and stopped sharpening her bladed glove. "I am at your disposal, Asmodeus," she said quietly, looking down at the floor, a wicked glint in her eye.

_________________________________________________

Asmodeus led his troops through the tunnels created by the High Lord's passage, torches lighting their way here and there. Ahead in the passageways, Asmodeus saw some shadows flickering. Three Dwarfs emerged from the shadows, screaming battle-cries and waving their pick-axes. The Mentor grinned and stepped aside. His Goblins rushed forth and engaged with the Dwarfs, making short work of them.

Stepping over the corpses of the Dwarfs, their retinue found the hole that had been hammered through Calisto's walls. Asmodeus turned and said, "Now remember, you lot. No killing unless it's heroes. All right?"

The creatures nodded.

Their Mentor led them into enemy territory, coming across several wrecked sentry traps. The sound of fighting was getting closer, several deep voiced cries and growls mingled with the clashing of steel against steel. Calisto cried out as her door finally gave way, buckling on it's hinges and falling apart. The heroes rushed in and faced the beating heart of Calisto. Two of the Giants immediately set to work, hammering their clubs against the archways surrounding the heart, shrugging off the energy bolts fired from nearby sentry traps.

Then the Goblins dashed in.

The Fairies squealed with surprise, but quickly recovered their poise and began unleashing lightning bolts at the advancing Goblins. Several were knocked down by the lightning, their bodies quivering under the tremendous shock. The Mistresses lifted their hands in the air and replied with several bolts of their own, knocking down the Fairies and the Giants. High Lord Lawrence cursed and called his Guards away from the Dungeon Heart which was pounding faster and faster.

Nearly all the Goblins had fallen wounded by the time the Fairies had been dealt with, and the Giants and the Guards were still coming for them. Asmodeus moved to the back of the skirmish, occasionally throwing healing spells at his troops to keep them on their feet.

Calisto's sentry traps continued to fire, and their work took it's toll on the heroes' numbers. Three Guards fell to them before they finally stopped through lack of Manna. Only the Mistresses stood between the heroes and Calisto's destruction.

Jella spotted High Lord Lawrence fighting with the rest of her Sisterhood. He was an accomplished warrior, something that she remembered all too well, having experienced his prison. "Lawrie!" she yelled, running straight at him, "How are you, darling?"

Lord Lawrence gritted his teeth and snarled. His Guards moved in on the other Mistresses, while he met with Jella. "Fine until I saw you!" he said in retort.

Jella deftly avoided his sword strokes as she nipped at his armour trying to find a gap. Lawrence grinned smugly at her lack of success.

Asmodeus felt vulnerable in the shattered doorway, and he was beginning to wonder where re-enforcements were going to come from. He glanced upwards, as though any help was going to come from that direction. It was then that he heard the tell-tale sound of flapping. He turned slowly around and saw the most welcome sight he had ever seen.

The magnificent forms of Zalador and his fellow Dark Angels flew into the fray, hacking down the Guards with their mighty broadswords. The bleeding, near beaten Mistresses whooped with delight as they landed behind Jella and looked down at a terrified Lord Lawrence.

"What have we here?" said Zalador, "A little morsel for the Legions, no doubt." The Dark Angel grinned and nodded at his lieutenants. They each grabbed an arm and a leg, Lord Lawrence kicking and screaming to no avail.

"No!" he yelled, "Anything but a sacrifice! My soul will be damned!"

"That's the idea," said Zalador with delight. And with that, Zalador's subordinates lifted Lawrence into the air and carried him away to the fate that awaited him in the Temple at the land's centre.

Asmodeus stepped forward. "Zalador," he said with reverence, "I have to ask, if not for my curiosity, but certainly my Master's. Why?"

"It is in my brethren's interests to help you, Asmodeus. I cannot tell you more than that. However, one stipulation is made for us to agree to help you. The alliance between Flamuli and Calisto must remain. You are the only two Keepers left in existence, and the Legions of the Damned will need your help in the future."

"I shall persuade my Master, Zalador, though I have a feeling that persuasion will not be necessary."

"Yes," said Zalador, "I had noticed that there was a mutual….respect." The Dark Angel smiled and without another word swooped up and out of the chamber.

Asmodeus glanced down into the pit which contained Calisto's heart. It had shrunk considerably under the onslaught from Lord Lawrence. Then, he noticed a figure starting to emerge from the pit. The portly form of Brachus emerged, his eyes wide and frightened, his skin glistening with the sweat of fear. He stepped down to stand before Asmodeus. "Thank you," he said simply.

"Do not thank me, Brachus," said Asmodeus, "Thank Calisto. Without her call to aid through Keeper's Law, we would have left you to your fate."

"I am aware of that, Asmodeus," said Brachus uncomfortably, "Yet I still thank you. I have served Calisto for many years, and I do not wish to see her destroyed."

Asmodeus nodded. "I have noticed that she tends to have that effect on people. A type of Evil in itself, really."

Brachus nodded. "Where do we go now?"

"Well, you can't stay here. Flamuli's area is more secure. I suggest we take steps to have Calisto moved to my Master's chamber."

"Are you mad?" cried Brachus, "Do you know what that could mean?"

"Probably something a lot more permanent than either of our Keepers would like. But it's the only avenue open to us."

"I suppose," Brachus sighed, "At least with Lord Lawrence destroyed, we have little threat imposed against us."

"Yes, but there are other dangers. Whatever ragtag resistance is left in the land above, they may well come down to see what has happened to their Lord and master. Furthermore, we do not have enough Warlocks between us to affect a teleportation. We shall have to do it the old fashioned way."

Brachus looked horrified. "You don't mean…"

"Yes," said Asmodeus with resignation, "She will have to be carried."

___________________________________________


	8. Calisto's Journey

Death to the High Lords 8:

Calisto's Journey

The two Mentors looked down into Calisto's pit. The sorry state of the membrane that protected her fragile crystal chamber from destruction caused Brachus no end of concern. He wanted her out of her present location as quickly as possible, but that presented certain problems.

Never before in the history of the struggle between Evil and Good had a Keeper ever been physical moved from it's resting place before. None had dared tried it because of the fragility of the vessel that they were forced to reside in. Now, Asmodeus and Brachus had no other option, and they were not entirely sure how do go about it without the aid of magic. Zalador would only help them so far. They had to figure out the rest of the problem for themselves.

"Supposing we pierce the membrane," mused Asmodeus.

"Her chamber would shatter," muttered Brachus, "No good."

The two sat with their chins resting upon cupped hands, an air of annoyance and frustration about them. Imps gave them a wide berth as they cleared the bodies of Lord Lawrence's followers out of Calisto's Heart chamber.

"What about sending an Imp to…no, it would get absorbed." Brachus shook his head sadly. "I'm fresh out of ideas, Asmodeus. The only way I can see this working is impossible."

"We can do the impossible, Brachus. It's what our Keepers expect from us. Haven't you learnt that by now?"

"Of course I have! I'm not a fool!"

"Then what was your impossible idea?"

Brachus looked sheepish to the point of shame. "Well, actually lifting the entire membrane out of the pit and carrying it, chamber and all."

Asmodeus groaned. "You're right. It is impossible."

"Surely the crystal chamber can be removed from the Heart?"

"Not without damaging the Keeper's essence. It's likely to dissipate if we try it."

Brachus growled in frustration. "But it's never been attempted before. Surely that means there is a chance that it might work. If we bring it out carefully enough."

Asmodeus looked at Brachus' earnest expression. By the Dark Gods, you're totally smitten aren't you, he thought. "Well, you have a point there, I suppose. Let's just make one thing clear. This is _your_ idea, _not _mine. Understand? Anything goes wrong, and I will hold you responsible."

"Of course," said Brachus, "I wouldn't expect anything else." But he scowled all the same, hardly relishing the prospect of having that sort of responsibility.

"Then let us make preparations. Having few Warlocks may not be a disadvantage. My Master has two, and they should be just enough to levitate the crystal chamber out of the Heart. After that, it's down to sheer brute force and ignorance."

______________________________________________

Flamuli's Warlocks approached the chamber with some reluctance. Knowing that a truce had been called between their Master and Calisto, something that had never occurred in their leader's entire existence, rankled them severely. Ordinarily, they would be blasting fireballs at what lay before them, but they could not under the restrictions of Keeper's Law.

They began chanting slowly and methodically, standing facing each other on opposite sides of the Heart. The green glow of Manna infused with their hands, and Brachus thought at first that they were sucking the very energy out of Calisto that kept her alive. To his relief, he could see the crystal chamber containing his Mistress' form emerging from the membrane as though the Heart were giving birth.

A team of Goblins stood by, ready to catch the heart if need be, their foreheads beaded with sweat as they knew that their lives were forfeit if they could not give Calisto safe passage.

Calisto was looking about her with an awed fascination. She had never left her chambers beneath the Heart before this day, and the torchlight seemed dazzling. Her mist-like eyes were squinting against the invasive light as the four Goblins each took a corner of the large crystal and began to moved it from above the membrane. The Warlocks still held it in place with their levitation spell until they were absolutely sure that the Goblins had it securely.

As they stepped down from the stone archways, they began to shake as Calisto's influence over her empire was broken by her departure. Cracks appeared in the arches until they crumbled altogether, large lumps of stone piercing the membrane, releasing a font of Manna.

"Time to go," said Asmodeus, and he swiftly led the way from the chamber. Brachus followed close behind, with the Goblins and Warlocks surrounding their precious cargo.

In Calisto's old Heart chamber, the membrane of the Heart slowly collapsed in on itself like a giant balloon. The Manna contained within was released in a huge shockwave that consumed all before it. Imps imploded on impact, scattered into tiny shards of green light. Green coloured tiles were ripped up from the floor, leaving only bare earth.

The group retreating from this awesome display of power were all hoping that the force would stay contained within the old Dungeon as they emerged through the hole dug by Lord Lawrence's Dwarfs. As they trotted, they went past the rotting corpses of those very same Dwarfs. Calisto spotted them and smiled.

"Flamuli killed them?" she asked Asmodeus.

"Indeed, Calisto," said Flamuli's Mentor. "He enjoyed it."

"Good." Calisto returned to her daydreaming.

The sound of the Manna explosion subsided into the distance as the power finally dissipated. Calisto looked saddened.

"My empire. Moments to build, and equal moments to destroy. And all by my own hand."

"Your dungeon here could hardly have been called an empire," said Asmodeus, "However, your empire of old always earned my Master's respect and admiration. He was just sorry that he had to leave it to a Lord to see you exiled."

Calisto smiled. "I see that Flamuli has not changed since last we met."

"No. He's still as ruthless as ever."

"Yet he was never ruthless enough to actually come after me himself. Very strange."

"I thought so myself at the time."

Calisto nodded imperceptibly. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know, madam."

Calisto hissed at Asmodeus' familiarity. "How dare you! You call me mistress, understand."

"I'm afraid not, Calisto. I answer to Flamuli and no-one else. You are not my Keeper, Calisto. He is!"

Calisto curled her insubstantial lips into a lop-sided grin. "I can see why Flamuli made such a big success of things. First the Avatar, then King Reginald. And you at the centre of it all. You must be very proud."

"Pride does not come into it. I serve. That is what I was born to do."

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Brachus shushed them after hearing a noise up ahead. The Imp that was travelling with them blundered on into the dirt path tunnels and was promptly peppered with half a dozen arrows, causing him to implode into a cloud of green sparks. Everyone froze.

"Set Calisto down," whispered Brachus, "Carefully."

The Goblins leaned her up against the wall of the tunnel as the two Warlocks prepared their offensive spells. Fire curled around their fingers, ready to be unleashed. An arrow thudded into the tunnel wall beside Brachus' head. The archers had emerged.

The Sylvan Elves began to fire arrows rapidly as they backed towards another tunnel. One of the Goblins was spitted through the throat and killed instantly. The other three fell prone to avoid the next volley, leaving room for the Warlocks to unleash their fireballs.

The fireballs burned a hole through two Elves, leaving four to retreat to safety into some natural alcoves.

Asmodeus could not help feeling that this was all a big trap to keep them pinned down for the arrival of reinforcements. "Master, can you hear me?" he cried, but his voice was unheeded.

"Perhaps they are already attacking him," said Brachus.

"No," said Calisto, "He still lives."

"Then why can I not reach him?" cried Asmodeus in frustration.

Suddenly, the earth in the ceiling of the chamber seemed to give way, and four guards and two Knights fell through the hole to land deftly on the cavern floor. The Knights drew their swords, but were quickly knocked down by a couple of well aimed fireballs. The guards brandished their spears and began to pace forward to impale the enemy.

"Where is Zalador when we need him?" said Asmodeus plaintively as he and Brachus moved behind the Goblins and Warlocks, "They're more than a match for what we have!"

The Goblins moved forward to meet their assailants, hardened by battle and an odd kind of resolve that it would be better to die quickly on the end of a spear than slowly in a prison in the land above. One of the guards fell to their unexpected attack, but the other three kept the Goblins well pinned down.

The Warlocks were staring death in the face. Their energies would not last forever, and the fireballs were growing weaker by the moment.

Then, there was a deep throated growl and a strange shuffling noise. Asmodeus smiled. It could only mean one thing. The Master had some new recruits.

The three huge, bloated, leathery skinned forms that pushed themselves into the chamber surveyed the scene before them. One of them scratched absently at what passed for it's bottom and shuffled forward to meet the horrified guards who were now pressed on both sides.

The Knights, who were poised to cut down the Warlocks were forced to go and support the guards who were being harried by the morning stars that swung suspended from the massive horns that crested the Bile Demons' heads. One of the guards fell with a blow to the head, his skull smashed in, and a Bile Demon finished him off by sitting on his head and expelling a large quantity of gas.

The other two guards backed themselves into the wall of the chamber, keeping their spears forward to ward off further attacks, but the Warlocks were now free to pick them off at their leisure.

The Knights fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered nearly three to one, and Asmodeus and Brachus watched with satisfaction as they were easily dispatched by the Bile Demons and Goblins.

"Splendid!" cried Calisto.

"I couldn't agree more, Mistress," said Brachus who was equally impressed.

"My Master demands the best, and receives the best," said Asmodeus simply. He glanced down at the still form of the dead Goblin, the arrow still protruding from it's throat. "However, we can't have everything." An Imp came quickly and dragged the body off in the direction of Flamuli's domain. The Mentor smiled.

"What?" said Brachus when he noticed the amused look.

"Flamuli has finally got his graveyard," said Asmodeus with a great deal of satisfaction.

The remaining Goblins, aided by Flamuli's newly acquired Bile Demons, picked up Calisto's grinning form and continued their journey to Flamuli's underground domain.

_________________________________________________


	9. Home Dark Home

Death to the High Lords 9:

Home Dark Home

Calisto looked understandably nervous as Flamuli's Warlocks prepared to lower her into her host's heart membrane. The thing that she had sought to destroy for countless years lay before her beating rhythmically, it's fleshy folds moving slowly up and down as it gathered in the magical energy that existed throughout the lands.

The two Warlocks glared at Calisto with looks of concentration, beads of sweat appearing on their forehead. The last stage of the Keeper's journey was about to begin, and to fail now would bring death to them all.

Out of the shadows stepped Asmodeus and Brachus side by side. They both nodded to the Warlocks, and Calisto began to rise slowly into the air.

The crystal chamber hovered above the centre of the Heart's membrane, and gently began to be lowered down. The Heart embraced her form as she sank into it, the surface never seeming to break or burst as hers had done. Such strength, she thought, forged over many years of battle and victory. I shall be safer here than in my own realm.

The crystal settled lightly on the floor of the chamber beneath the beating Heart, and the Warlocks breathed a sigh of relief and nearly collapsed with exhaustion.

Calisto looked about her at the skull-decorated walls and smiled. She almost felt at home. Then the rasping of Flamuli's voice intruded on her perusal.

"Welcome to my home, Calisto."

Calisto turned to see Flamuli regarding her with a quizzical look. It suddenly occurred to her that he had never seen the true form of another Keeper, as she had not. For a moment, they took each other's forms in as though they were both looking in a mirror. Both pairs of slit like eyes were wide with wonder.

"So…" they both said simultaneously. Calisto smiled slightly. Flamuli looked sheepish. "After you," he said.

"So, have long have you been in existence?"

"Seven hundred and fifty-three years. Roughly." Flamuli was finding it difficult talking to her. The simplest question from her left him struggling for speech. What is wrong with me?, he thought. "And you?"

"A girl by comparison," she replied, "A mere three hundred and twenty-eight years. Of course, I thought for a long time that I was the only one left when I allowed myself to become exiled. That changed, of course, when I returned and found you here. A pity that we never had the opportunity to spar once again."

"Yes, a pity," said Flamuli, "It would not have been much of a contest, mind. You had very little prowling the insides of your walls when I came to your rescue."

"What an absurd thing to say!" said Calisto, her voice suddenly fiery, "I would have given you a run for your gold if Lord Lawrence had not interfered when he did!"

"Granted," said Flamuli, "He did catch you on the hop."

"How much longer do you want this alliance to last, Flamuli?" she said threateningly.

"As long as the Legions of the Damned want me to. At least, so Zalador tells me."

"The Legions of the Damned?" said Calisto, her voice becoming steadily more distant. "Now where have I heard that name before?"

"You know of the Legions?" said Flamuli eagerly.

Calisto cast him a sidelong glance and smiled crookedly. "What's it worth?"

"Oh!" Flamuli cried plaintively.

______________________________________________

Grell and Melkum stood nervously outside Avatar Brandicor's throne room, wishing fervently that someone else was in their place. They did not like giving their highest lord bad news at the best of times, but this was by far the worst that they had to deliver. When the deep voice of the Avatar barked it's permission for entry, they nearly jumped off the flagstone floor. They settled their shoulders, squared their chins, and prepared for the onslaught.

The chamber they entered was sumptuous. Fit for a King, in fact, which Brandicor very much fancied he was. The tapestries that adorned the wall were immense, depicting great and heroic feats being performed by his predecessor. The stonework in the centre of the room was designed to look like the fabled Table of Fellowship that Flamuli's minions had smashed some years ago when they had taken Skybird Trill. Most of the city had followed, as Brandicor remembered it, being just a lowly soldier then. But ambition drove him on to recreate what was lost, but not without the help of some influential people and some slightly unorthodox methods. Now, through his own schemes and power struggles, he sat upon the throne that had once belonged to his title's namesake and reigned with a firm but not entirely benevolent hand. 'Keep them on their toes' was his motto, and no-one could persuade him to do otherwise.

Grell and Melkum bowed before Brandicor as he looked down at them from the gold and silver throne upon it's raised dais. He nodded, allowing them to stand upright once more, Melkum with his hand on his lower back as he strained to do so. Brandicor knew immediately that something was amiss. The two Wizards were not looking him directly in the eye.

"Well," he said in measured tones. Of course, if the tones were in fact measured by an instrument of some sort, it would have told you that an earthquake was imminent. "You have some news?"

Grell was not relieved when Brandicor did not connect the word news with bad. He knew that the Avatar knew already. "It's about Lord Lawrence, Highness."

The finger that was stroking Brandicor's beard stopped. "What about him?"

"The last we heard, Highness, was that he was carried off by a group of Dark Angels and thrown into their Temple's sacrificial pool. Needless to say, Highness, no trace has been found."

Brandicor nodded. He seemed to be digesting the news with an unusual amount of calm. "I see." He slouched back in his throne. He seemed to be pondering the news further, despite it's simplicity.

"We need your guidance, Highness, as is your title's duty in these difficult times."

Melkum glanced at his friend and colleague, wondering why Grell was trying to talk himself into an early grave.

"And you shall it," said Brandicor. "Melkum, a moment alone with Grell, if you please. Go back to your chambers. I shall be summoning you in due course."

Melkum bowed smartly and turned almost too rapidly for propriety. He shuffled out of the throne room, almost slamming the door after him.

Brandicor looked down at the nervous Grell and leaned forward on his throne. "Now," he said, his voice almost purring, "You and I are going to have a little talk."

_____________________________________________

"Nice study," muttered Brachus as he gazed around the dimly lit office of Asmodeus. The paintings that adorned the walls were of the highest quality and, on occasion, the highest body count. His favourite lantern, a human skull topped with a candle, sat on the corner of his desk, it's feeble flame shedding the only light in the room. The carpet was the only thing that any outsider would have considered a thing of beauty, the patterns woven into it seeming to move in the candlelight.

Asmodeus gestured and a chair appeared before his desk as he sat down in his own high backed chair. He ran his hand along the arms of the chair which looked like ivory, but on closer inspection revealed themselves to be human femurs. Brachus flinched when he realised this, being human himself, but soon relaxed when he knew that no harm could come to him here. At least, not while the treaty lasted between their respective Keepers.

"So," said Asmodeus brightly, "It looks like the foes shall have to come to us."

Brachus tore his eyes away from a large spider that had begun to crawl up the desk's leg. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean that unless we find another portal and draw more Warlocks here, we will be unable to move two Keepers under a single Heart."

"I'm aware of that, Asmodeus. Perhaps you are forgetting about the portal that my Mistress obtained."

"I had not forgotten, Brachus. In fact, we already have it, and it's power has been exhausted. It's just four great lumps of ornamental crystal surrounding a hole in the ground."

Brachus sighed deeply. "Well, what are we to do? There aren't any more portals in this region. At least none that I know of."

"Well, I happen to have found one. Unfortunately, it's already owned."

"Oh," said Brachus surprised, "I thought that Flamuli and Calisto were the last of their kind."

"They are," said Asmodeus, "This one is controlled by a band of heroes from the land above who don't know that Lord Lawrence is dead. We have to defeat them to gain it."

"I see," said Brachus, "Well, our forces are strong enough, aren't they?"

"Against a troop of twelve knights, seven guards, four giants, and numerous Dwarfs? I don't think so. In our current state, we wouldn't stand a chance."

Brachus smiled slightly as he caught the glint in Asmodeus' eye. "I take it you have a plan."

Asmodeus grinned. "I always do, Brachus."

_____________________________________________

In the training room, Bile Demons were grunting, farting, and sweating their way to better battle prowess. Their training would have gone quicker if they did not keep getting distracted by the Dark Mistresses sauntering seductively through the chamber. One Bile Demon got so beguiled by one of them, he forgot that he had sent the training effigy spinning and got struck on the back of the head by a flailing mace attached to the figure's arm. Two Imps standing nearby collapsed into peals of squeaky laughter, which quickly died away as the Bile Demon's bowels relaxed.

Life in the dungeon had settled into a fairly regular pattern. The Goblins lived in fear of Jella and her sisters, the Bile Demons lived in fear of an empty Hatchery, and the unassuming Imps lived in fear of Asmodeus' boots. The Mentor felt he could not start his day unless he had kicked at least one Imp on his daily rounds.

As he was overseeing the construction of a Casino where his creatures could relax when they were not on patrol, the gambit that he had discussed with Brachus earlier in the day began to click into place inside his head. It meant a great deal of risk, that much he knew.

But it would be worth it just to see the looks on those upstart heroes' faces.

______________________________________________


	10. Rogues' Gambit

Death to the High Lords 10:

Death to the High Lords 10:

Rogues' Gambit

Asmodeus watched with satisfaction as a pair of Rogues emerged from the portal, climbing out the pit on the crystal pillars. He was hoping that they would be attracted to the dungeon by the building of the casino. The first part of his plan had paid off.

He knew that thieves served the Lords of the lands above. Rogues were as close to thieves as any in the underworld, and they were brilliant at disguising themselves in the guise of the enemy. Perhaps these two, when trained enough, would be able to penetrate the enemy camp at Honeydew Falls, the next town on Flamuli's list. Subversion was the key to taking that realm, it being heavily guarded and his master's forces not nearly strong enough to tackle the army that awaited them there. He doubted that Zalador and his brothers would help them a second time.

He joined Brachus in his study and they both looked into Asmodeus' scrying ball, and saw that Lord Fortisque was preparing his forces already. Both Mentors frowned deeply. That meant that there was a spy in their midst, and they would have to do their best to flush them out.

Several hours later, after the two Rogues, Dappa and Kepple, had completed their training with great rapidity, Asmodeus called them to his study and outlined what they had to do.

"It will involve going into the land above, I'm afraid," explained Asmodeus, "So your usual penchant for dark work will be null and void."

Dappa and Kepple looked vaguely disappointed.

"Find the location of the Lord of this land and bring the information back to us. Try and blend into his forces as well as possible. Understood?"

The laconic Rogues nodded. They adjusted their masks and sheathed their daggers, moving off in the direction of the new tunnel that the imps were carving towards the land above.

______________________________________________-

"This is inexcusable!" complained Dappa as he emerged from the hole in the ground, followed closely by his associate. Kepple brushed the dirt from his tunics and looked down to find the Imps were already pulling the dirt in after themselves as they made their way back down.

"Why?" asked Kepple after a careful inspection of his clothing. He kicked another clod of earth of his black leather boots.

"Because this is not what we're here for! Our trade does not involve spying!"

"But is does involve stealth and cunning, traits I believe a spy should cherish."

Dappa grumbled his agreement and touched the side of his mask. Kepple did the same and they both closed their eyes. The masks disappeared into their flesh, sinking in around their eyes. Their tunics changed from leather to cotton and silk, arrayed in bright colours to fit in with the locals. Their boots remained the same, their daggers hidden inside them, and they made their way along the road that ran alongside the forest that they had emerged in.

"Adequate?" said Kepple.

"We might as well be twins," said Dappa. "I'm not going to enjoy this one bit."

"We're not meant to enjoy it. We're meant to find Lord Fortisque and tell the Master. We'll have to blend in whether we like it or not."

Dappa nodded. They could see the town ahead and they wondered what sort of welcome they were going to receive there.

______________________________________________

Unknown to the two cut-throats, Lord Fortisque was receiving Avatar Brandicor in his fort on the outskirts of the town. Only Melkum joined the Avatar on his visit. There were mutterings around the court as Brandicor entered. Grell was conspicuous by his absence.

"Highness," said Lord Fortisque with a great deal of fawning.

"Fortisque," Brandicor responded, pointedly leaving out the man's title. Fortisque's face twitched with annoyance briefly before engaging an entirely false smile of welcome.

"What brings you to these parts, Highness?"

"To put it bluntly, you're next."

Fortisque blanched at Brandicor's use of words. "Highness?"

"Flamuli has crushed Smilesville. Honeydew Falls is next on his list, and his forces are mobilising as we speak."

Fortisque grew visibly paler. "You can't be serious! You told me that we would be safe from the incursions of the Keepers."

"Keeper. Calisto is no more. I have it on good authority that her Heart was destroyed even though Smilesville's forces did not succeed."

"Even so, Flamuli has been around since the days of your predecessor. He won't go down without a fight."

"I know. That's why I'm here. To put a stop to him once and for all."

"I'm grateful for your concern, Highness. But Flamuli is older than this town. It would be best just to evacuate."

Brandicor suddenly exploded with rage and struck Fortisque with his gauntleted fist. A gasp went through the assembled court. "Evacuate! Such defeatist talk is not worthy of someone of your rank!"

Fortisque staunched the flow of blood from the cut on his cheek, his eyes full of fear. "I beg your forgiveness, Highness," he muttered humbly.

Brandicor stopped hovering over Fortisque who was trembling so much that his armour was rattling. "You are forgiven, Lord Fortisque. However, I must insist that you move against this upstart Keeper soon. And unfortunately, it will be without my support. I have more pressing matters at the rebuilding of Skybird Trill. Farewell. Melkum!" The Avatar called to his Wizard as though he were some sort of pet. Melkum responded as such with a meekness that shocked everyone that knew him.

Amongst the crowd of the court, amongst the sea of shocked and terrified faces, Dappa and Kepple watched the scene with a great deal of interest.

________________________________________________

As Dappa and Kepple walked away from the town, they could hardly believe the ease with which they had accomplished their mission. As they returned to the spot where they had emerged from the Underworld, however, they saw no sign of an Imp or hole waiting for them anywhere.

"Oh, no!" cried Dappa, "I told you! They're going to leave us stranded out here!"

Suddenly, a deep voice cried out, "What are you two doing here?"

Dappa and Kepple started and turned to see a Knight on horseback with a retinue of several guards, half a dozen Giants, four Dwarfs, and a troop of twenty Sylvan Elves, all of them armed to the teeth. "Waiting for you," Kepple said quickly.

"Well, come on then! Get in line!"

"Yes, sir," said both Rogues, snapping a smart salute.

_______________________________________________

They soon arrived once more at Lord Fortisque's fort, making their way through several torchlit corridors. They entered a room that was being tended by four Wizards, all of whom were preparing two Hero gates.

"Well, this is one way back," whispered Dappa.

"Not exactly what we had in mind," replied Kepple.

One of the Elves tapped them on the shoulder. "What was that?" asked the sharp-eared Archer.

"Nothing," lied Dappa unconvincingly.

Kepple was a little more succinct. He pulled his dagger out from his boot and stabbed the Elf in the throat. The Archer collapsed in a pool of blood. The others were too shocked to react at first, and Kepple used the opportunity to grab Dappa's arm and run for the Hero gate.

"Get them!" screamed the Knight. Two Wizards were cut down before they could get a spell together, and the two Rogues leapt into the Hero gate, disappearing in a flash of light just as several arrows clattered against the wall behind the spot where they had been standing moments earlier.

They emerged out the other side to find a small chamber with no passageways. They looked at each other in despair. "We're dead," said Dappa.

The light filled the Hero gate and the Knight started emerging. He raised his sword, ready to strike them down.

Then, the wall caved in behind Dappa and Kepple, and two Imps fell forwards into the chamber, followed closely by Jella and her friends. Lightning bolts played over the surface of the Knight's armour, making him jiggle around on the spot as the power coursed through him. He collapsed, little wisps of smoke drifting out of the gaps in his armour and faceplate.

Then the rest arrived.

Jella, the other Mistresses, and the two Rogues felt themselves being spirited away back to the main complex.

"Prepare, my children," said the familiar voice of Flamuli through the corridors, "The people of Honeydew Falls are upon us!"

______________________________________________


	11. The Battle of Honeydew Falls

Death to the High Lords 11:

Death to the High Lords 11:

The Battle of Honeydew Falls

Asmodeus glanced up briefly at his master's announcement. He returned to idly polishing his crystal ball. Brachus stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Are you going to do nothing?" exclaimed the overweight Mentor, "Are you just going to sit idly by and watch everything that you have created fall to ruin?"

"Nothing is going to fall to ruin, Brachus," said Asmodeus. He sounded bored with the whole subject. "Our Bile Demons have been working almost constantly in the recent lull in hostilities. We have the situation under control. Trust me."

"Huh! Trust you? Never!"

Asmodeus merely smiled and continued his polishing.

___________________________________________________

The Dwarfs continued to hammer their way towards Flamuli and Calisto's shared domain with their pick-axes, expecting to break through the earth and suddenly be engulfed by sentient Evil at any moment. Dwarfs were not cowards, as such. They simply valued life and gold. Most of the time in that order.

The vast retinue following them was now accompanied by Lord Fortisque himself, clad in his best plate armour. After the unfortunate death of the Knight that was sent to bolster the troops for the attack, the need for a leader of stature became pressing. Unfortunately, they had to settle for Lord Fortisque.

Fortisque had enjoyed a time of peace and prosperity in Honeydew Falls since he assumed the Lordship after the defeat of King Reginald in the Sunlit Kingdom. The Keepers seemed to want to retire after so momentous a victory, content to stay away from the only unconquered kingdom left in the world. But when Avatar Brandicor came along and declared his absolute rule, Fortisque and a number of other Lords were outraged. They preferred the Kingdom Council they had founded, which seemed to be working better than having a single ruler in power making all the decisions. But Brandicor ruled with a iron fist, and declared that any who did not agree with his way of running things was obviously an agent of the Dark Gods and would be executed immediately. Naturally, the Lords kept silent.

But this could not go on forever, and now Brandicor was soaking up all the money that the Lords could give him for his absurd plan of rebuilding Skybird Trill, home of the original Avatar and stronghold of the old Fairlands Kingdom which was now under the yoke of Flamuli. Brandicor's plans to take the population of his kingdom back to the Fairlands was even more dangerous. The land was dead, polluted beyond the sustenance of life, and vile apparitions walked the torn earth where the final battles took place that cleansed the land of all humans, Elves, and fairy-folk.

Fortisque was only a squire when those battles took place, but he remembered the reports that the Knight he served, the previous Lord, Farron, was forced to read and not be able to act upon for fear of drawing attention to their lands. Now it seemed Farron's subtlety and discretion was in vain.

When they reached the gap in the wall that Flamuli had created to rescue his Rogues, the Dwarfs stopped, looking at the door covered in sigils with mild interest.

"What are they then?" said one.

"Looks like magical runes," said one of the Elves. "But I cannot read these ones. I have no knowledge of dark magic."

"Let's just break it down," said a guard impatiently.

"Yeah," said the Giants enthusiastically. They charged at the door with their clubs raised, ready to pummel the door to pieces.

Then, from the largest rune in the centre of the door, a fireball shot out, killing one of the Giants. The others stared at the body with numb horror, which quickly became seething anger. The Giants battered the door savagely, dodging the fireballs that continued to fire which struck down some of the Elves instead. Eventually, the door crumbled, but for some reason, the fireballs still continued to come. Then they noticed the sentry trap.

The guards dashed in, pummelling the sentry trap and smashing it to pieces. As they were looking down with satisfaction at the hunks of twisted metal sparking with diffused Manna, there was an ominous rumbling noise. Giants being curious, and ultimately extremely thick beings, walked into the corridor to see the source of the rumbling. They could not understand when the guards pushed them aside and dashed out through the broken door. As they turned the corner, their understanding was absolute, but very brief, as a large spiked ball of solid stone rolled over them, mashing them into a pulp. There was a horribly wet crunching sound as they were crushed, then a loud crash as the boulder trap hit a wall and broke apart.

Understandably, everyone was now very nervous, and they had not even entered the complex properly. Fortisque urged them forward, however, and the way seemed clear. The Elves headed the group, their bows at the ready, followed by the guards with his Lordship at the rear, stepping gingerly over the mess that the Giants had left behind.

_________________________________________________

Asmodeus and Brachus smiled in unison when they watched the destruction of Fortisque's strongest warriors. The only real threat left now was the guards. The Elves would more than likely flee once the infantry had been lost. But they had to ensure that Lord Fortisque did not leave the dungeon.

"Fortisque looks ready to bolt," said Brachus.

"An event we should avoid if we are to move quickly through this region to conquer further lands," remarked his colleague.

"Well, just hit him with a few lightning bolts and that'll be that."

"Not very satisfying for an army of well trained, battle-hardened creatures. Our numbers are growing, and the numbers coming from the land above will grow proportionally. Besides, Manna is too precious to waste on a weakling Lord."

"What could they possibly throw at you that could threaten your position?"

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. "There could be anything, Brachus. Anything."

Brachus fell silent, content to let the subject lie and carry on watching the evening's entertainment.

_________________________________________________

Fortisque and his men entered a large empty chamber, the torchlight creating grotesque chariacatures of the guards, making them look like comedic figures with poles growing out of their heads.

When they were all inside the chamber, an Imp wandered in and saw them standing there staring at it. It squealed and ran for the nearest door. Several arrows flew through the air, all of them missing. As the Elves went to retrieve their arrows, several dropped to the ground and lay still. Those that remained alive were whirling round, looking into the shadows for any source of an enemy.

One of the Elves, for a fleeting moment, heard a barely perceptible whistle in the air. It was the last thing he heard as a crossbow bolt skewered him in the throat. He collapsed to the floor. The Guards were holding their spears ready to charge. Fortisque had drawn his richly decorated broadsword. The remaining Elves had arrows nocked, ready to shoot.

Suddenly, from trapdoors hidden in the floor, Flamuli's Goblins burst out, yelling battle-cries, waving their swords in the air. They engaged the Guards, outnumbering them two to one. The Elves attempted to make a break the way they came, almost clambering past Fortisque, who quickly followed them. As they entered the corridor, however, several leather clad figures emerged from the shadows, the blades on their right hands glinting in the dim light. Jella and the rest of the Mistresses clasped their hands in the air and unleashed a deadly barrage of lightning bolts. Screams echoed through the tunnel and in the room beyond as Elves fell twitching and Guards were cut down by the Goblins. Lord Fortisque was left standing totally alone, his retinue lying in ruins around him.

He brandished his broadsword. "Stay back!" he cried, with more courage than he felt. He heard the padding of feet behind him, and saw the Goblins approaching slowly, grinning as they swung their bloodstained swords lazily.

Jella walked slinkily up to Fortisque and calmly took the sword from his hand and tossed it casually away. There was a squeak as a rat was crushed under the hilt. "Darling," she purred, running the blade on her index finger down his left cheek leaving a thin line of blood. "We're going to have such fun, you and I."

She held up the bloodied edge of the blade right in front of his face.

As soon as he saw that it was his own blood, Lord Fortisque fainted.

_______________________________________________________

Consciousness slowly returned. Fortisque noticed that he was staring at a ceiling that was made up of metal plating. He could not move his arms and legs. The armour had been stripped from his body.

Suddenly, a grinning face appeared in his field of vision. He screamed and struggled against the restraints. It was no use. They were holding him fast.

Asmodeus shushed him soothingly. "Now, now, your Lordship. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm going to kill you. Not a bit of it!" He smiled conspiratorially.

Fortisque could not help but smile back. The face and the voice seemed so benign.

"I'm not going to kill you," continued Asmodeus. "Now Jella, on the other hand, is an expert at inflicting pain in no small measure, and I think that it will eventually kill you."

Sweat broke out on Fortisque's face as Jella's hooded eyes bored into his. "No," he croaked.

Asmodeus' smile slipped off his face as though he had been wearing a mask. "Of course, you can avoid a certain amount by co-operating with us. We know that Avatar Brandicor is planning to rebuild Skybird Trill. Why is he doing this? It is right in the heart of my Master's territory. With the lack of an army there, the Avatar wouldn't stand a chance. What has the new 'great hero' got up his sleeve?"

"I don't know," said Fortisque. "All I know is what you've just told me." The sweat was trickling into his eyes now, making them sting.

Asmodeus looked up at Jella. "Jella, my dear… practise your art."

Fortisque saw Asmodeus leave his field of vision. Any pretence he had of feeling safe evaporated rapidly as Jella laughed wickedly at him and moved away to gather together some of her favourite toys.

___________________________________________________


	12. Fortisque's Folly

Death to the High Lords 12:

Death to the High Lords 12:

Fortisque's Folly

By the time Jella had finished with Lord Fortisque, he was in a sorry state. He might once have been human, but all that was left was unrecognisable. The remains were taken to Flamuli's graveyard to join the rest of his cohorts.

As soon as his body was buried beneath the enchanted soil, it seemed to tip the balance somewhere, and the sarcophagus in the centre of the misty room began to glow a bright green. Bats flew around the huge stone coffin almost in anticipation until a huge flock of bats flew out of the coffin, followed immediately by a flash of light.

A cloaked figure slowly emerged from the sarcophagus. It's head was completely bald, with large pointy ears. It turned slowly, floating on the air, and looked appreciatively at it's new surroundings. It's red eyes took in everything. It was very hungry.

"Know this, creature of the night," boomed Flamuli's voice, "I have brought you into this underworld to do my bidding. You may feast on none of my beasts unless I give you leave to do so. You are only here because I created you. Remember this, and you shall go to the lands above in due time and feast in the eternal night that will soon follow."

The Vampire bowed deeply in reverence and made it's way to the lair. The Goblins, weary after the battle in the corridors, cowered beneath their blankets as the Vampire extended his hand and created a richly upholstered coffin for itself. It smiled, it's fangs white and gleaming in the torchlight, and climbed into it, awaiting it's master's instructions.

_________________________________

Asmodeus supervised the arrival of three more Vampires into the domain, then commenced their training. They proved to be skilled fighters and grew stronger with each passing day. Soon, it would be time to move on, which meant going to Bel-Parel, the centre for communication in the land above. The destruction of the Guild of Messengers would go a long way to achieving Flamuli and Calisto's ambitions.

He approached the heart and sank once more beneath the membrane to the Keepers below. Brachus was already there, consulting with Calisto in hushed whispers. Flamuli looked distinctly displeased about this, but said nothing as Asmodeus approached.

"Yes, Asmodeus," he said, "What is it?"

Asmodeus smiled his wicked smile and said, "Fortisque has revealed much of Brandicor's plans to usurp your position, Master. It seems that the Avatar is relying on his association with the Guild of Messengers based in Bel-Parel to the north of here. They carry all his news and his instructions for the re-building of Skybird Trill."

Flamuli's grin widened when Skybird Trill was mentioned. "Hmm. It seems that Fortisque has helped us very much. Did you see that he was suitably rewarded?"

"Of course, Master. He joined his fellows, as he would wish to."

"Excellent. Prepare for the incursion into Bel-Parel territory. Have the Imps get as close to the Messengers' headquarters as possible."

"Yes, Master." Asmodeus bowed and approached Brachus, who had been watching the exchange. "It seems that…"

"Yes, I know," whispered Brachus, "I heard. Calisto does not see it that way."

"What do you mean? Flamuli has never made a mistake before."

"I'm not saying that he has. But Calisto believes that this whole thing is a ploy to destroy you. And her, ultimately. If you go into Bel-Pelar, you'll be walking into a trap."

Asmodeus tried to keep his voice low and under control. "How could she possibly know that? Does she have her ear pressed against Brandicor's bedroom door when he talks in his sleep?!"

"I'm not sure. Call it female intuition. She managed to survive to go into exile thanks to that intuition."

"Nonsense!" Asmodeus could no longer keep his voice down.

"Asmodeus, please," said Calisto, "You must listen to me!"

"You are not my Mistress, Calisto, and never will be!"

Asmodeus strode away and hovered up and out of the membrane. As he was emerging, he became stuck halfway out. He tried heaving his midriff up, but it wouldn't budge.

"Asmodeus!" Flamuli's voice was cold with anger, "You do nothing to honour the pledge of allegiance between myself and Calisto."

"A Keeper should know nothing of honour, Master! He must embrace the axiom of betrayal, cunning, destruction!"

"Enough! There will be no more outbursts as long as Calisto is under my protection! Do you understand?"

"But, Master…"

"Do you question my authority here? You know as well as I, Asmodeus, that this membrane can do far more than crush the manna out of Imps. It could quite easily crush the life out of you."

Asmodeus knew that reason would not prevail in this instance. But he also knew that no female Keeper would tell Flamuli where to go and what to do. "Very well, Master."

"Good. Now get on and prepare the Imps and your guard for the journey!"

The membrane, to add injury to insult, literally spat Asmodeus out, sending him tumbling onto the steps between the archways. A passing Bile Demon laughed, flatulence expelling with each guffaw. The Mentor scowled at him, but resisted the temptation to reduce the Bile Demon into it's component gases.

He got to his feet and gathered together the retinue for the coming journey. Soon, they were at a northern face of outer wall, preparing to dig out. As he gave the command to commence digging, he could not help but wonder why Calisto was so convinced that they were walking into a trap. As they moved through the earth rapidly towards Bel-Parel, there was no sign of hidden pockets of heroes, no armies waiting to crush them. There was simply dirt and more dirt.

Soon, they hit an outer wall, and the Imps began hammering against it for all their worth. Slowly, the stones began to crumble away, until they had made a satisfactory hole.

Through the hole was a passageway, unlit and deserted. Already, Asmodeus did not like it. They ventured inside, looking around for any doors or torches on the walls. There was no sign. Asmodeus motioned for the Goblins to lead, and his newly created Vampires to guard the rear while he walked in between.

The passageway seemed to go on forever, until at last they came to a large steel door that was covered in battering ram marks and sword strikes. It did not take much to knock the door down; it was practically off it's hinges when they started and fell into the large room beyond.

The room was like a charnel house, littered with bodies, all recently killed. Strangely, most of them died by the sword, not by fang or tooth or claw. All of them appeared to be messengers, each corpse's uniform wearing the red armband of the Guild.

"There's something not right here," said Asmodeus. The Goblins were equally nervous, shifting about on their feet, startling at the slightest noise.

Suddenly, a low moan began to sweep through the chamber. Asmodeus looked around for the source of the noise, which seemed to be getting louder and more intense. The source soon presented itself; the bodies began to rise.

The messengers were all lurching to their feet, some of them despite gaping wounds in their bodies and heads, all with a lifeless, glazed look in their eyes. The Goblins looked ready to bolt, but the Vampires dashed yelling towards the vast army of Zombies that was shuffling towards them.

There were only four Vampires, but they moved through the numbers with amazing speed and agility, using their powerful claw like hands to rip through dead flesh and sinew. But those that fell rose again quickly, and still moved inexorably towards the Goblins and their leader.

Asmodeus quickly called a retreat, and the Goblins did not hesitate in responding. They dashed out of the doorway and through the long passageway, only to find that a massive boulder, which filled the entire corridor, was rolling towards them at a ponderous yet deadly speed. Asmodeus smiled wryly. Fortisque was loyal to the end. He knew of this cursed place and had sent them into a trap. And Calisto had told them as much.

"Back to the chamber! Quickly! Better to die fighting than to be crushed by our own device!"

The Goblins ran back, attacking anything that moved slowly and moaned. Zombies fell, but rose again almost as quickly. They were outnumbered at least six to one.

Suddenly, the attacks stopped. The Zombies stopped moving forwards and started to shuffle away to the walls of the chamber. Asmodeus frowned in puzzlement. He looked beyond the crowd and saw a figure dressed in robes emerge from a doorway at the back of the chamber. The figure was stooped slightly and lent on it's staff to support itself as it walked towards Asmodeus. The figure a few feet away from him and lifted back the hood that held it's face in shadow. Asmodeus' jaw dropped. He could not believe what he was seeing.

It was Grell.

________________________________________


	13. The Turncoats

Death to the High Lords 13:

Death to the High Lords 13:

The Turncoats

Grell sat shaking in Asmodeus' study, clutching a bubbling goblet in his frail looking hands. His staff was leant against the arm of the chair. He glanced occasionally at Asmodeus, smiling slightly in thanks before continuing to sip from the potion. He drained the goblet to the dregs and sat back, handing the goblet to a waiting Imp.

"Thank you, Asmodeus," said Grell. His voice was stronger than it had been in the chamber of undead at Bel-Pelar. "I appreciate you taking me in like this."

"The Master did not like it one bit. It took some persuading. But when he saw your control over the undead, and your offer for a truce to parley, I insinuated that it may be in our best interests to have you in our sight."

"And on your side."

Asmodeus raised his eyebrows, hiding his surprise with the expertise of the greatest poker player. "Really? And when did you decide that?"

"When Brandicor tried to kill me."

Given the unstable nature of the new Avatar that Dappa and Kepple had reported, and the evidence of his own scrying, Asmodeus was not surprised by that at all. "And when did this happen?"

"Three days ago. After Smilesville fell. He blamed me for the charade that took place there because of your spying techniques and my singular lack at being able to spot them quickly enough. So he had me dragged out by his guards to the courtyard and held an axe over my neck. I couldn't just kneel there and die. I wasn't ready to go just yet! So I teleported away. A little too quickly, unfortunately. I didn't give myself time to calculate a trajectory, and I ended up floating forty feet above the ground. Then gravity took over, and I found myself at Bel-Pelar. But something had been there before me."

"Some…_thing_?"

"All the messengers were dead, slain by some unknown beast. No army had crossed there. There were no signs of any horses or a large body of men. So I concluded that it could only be one thing. The Horned Reaper."

Asmodeus and Brachus stared at each other. They had been so close.

"I made my way through the ruins," continued Grell, "And sure enough, there was a door hanging off it's hinges at the end of the passageway, and a large circle was drawn in the dirt in the cavern beyond. Someone had called the Reaper and made a quick exit, leaving the creature to it."

"But who?" said Asmodeus, "Who would wield such power over an uncontrollable creature like the Reaper?"

"Surely there isn't another talisman?" said Brachus with alarm.

"No. The Reaper Talisman was one of a kind. The Dark Gods created it and left the pieces lying around in the underground caverns beneath the Sunlit Kingdom. We found them and used the Reaper to destroy King Reginald, but the talisman was destroyed in the process."

"So what happened to the pieces?"

"Well, obviously, someone has found them and managed to piece them together."

Grell stood. "I understand I can have lodgings here?"

"Well," said Asmodeus, "You can try the main lair if you like, but I don't see you being very popular. I'll have an Imp tunnel out a small lair for your private use. Feel free to browse the libraries or use the training room." He waved Grell away with a welcoming smile.

Brachus grabbed his fellow Mentor's sleeve. "How can you be sure that we can trust him?"

Asmodeus shrugged. "I don't trust anyone, Brachus. You should know that."

"Now that doesn't really answer my question, does it!"

"It's not meant to."

_____________________________________________

Grell made himself as comfortable as possible, conjuring a simple bed in his lair and settled in to take in his new surroundings.

The decoration was not entirely to his taste. The skulls did not unnerve him as such. They just weren't aesthetically pleasing given the pleasant green of the floor. However, the yellow slime that fed the mossy floor by running down the walls did fit in rather nicely.

Grell sighed deeply, a sad sound. He had served Brandicor well, only to have his loyalty questioned and ultimately thrown aside. True, he had despised their illustrious leader from the word go, but there was always an underlying respect there, something which was difficult to merely shake off unless that same person whom you respected unexpectedly tried to kill you instead of being merciful, or even conciliatory. The original Avatar would have been quick to forgive such a mistake.

How he missed the old days, when he was fresh out of the Wizard Academy and became part of the great hero's court, listening to the people, helping them in any way they could. Then, Flamuli was hammering at the gates, and the Avatar went to meet him, and despite being resurrected, was defeated by the Keeper's hordes. His body was never found in the underground passageways beneath the ruined city. Those that dared to venture there to look for it told tales of the shades of warriors wandering the corridors, screaming in torment as though in a kind of purgatory. Others never made it back, while still more were driven mad by the visions they saw there. Grell wondered what Brandicor would make of it all when he finally finished the place.

Grell lay back on his bed, staring at the earthen ceiling of his new home, daydreaming of the glory days that would never ever return.

_______________________________________________

Beneath the beating Heart at the centre of the vast subterranean network, Flamuli and Calisto spent yet another evening in silence and contemplation. Even though it looked as if they were not communicating, they would always play a little game.

Each one would try and catch the other looking at them. It was the kind of behaviour usually reserved for a pair of deeply shy and reserved teenagers, but here it was in plain view of the two Mentors. They knew that something was happening that shouldn't be.

Then, out of the blue, Flamuli spoke. "Are you all right?"

Calisto swirled round in her crystal to face Flamuli properly. There was no denying that they were looking at each other now. "Fine," she said briskly, wanting to stamp out this attempt at a conversation as quickly as possible.

"Good," said Flamuli. His voice sounded almost defeated. But not quite. "Can you move?"

Calisto frowned. What an odd question, she thought. "Why?"

"Because…if you don't mind…I'd like the two of us to…be closer together."

Calisto's frowned slowly became wide-eyed astonishment. "Why?"

"Look, just stop asking questions and just do it, will you?"

"Ha! You think you can just order me about?"

"I am your protector, and if you wish to stay protected, you will do as I say!"

"I will not!"

Flamuli pushed a tendril of power out towards Calisto's chamber. "No!" she cried angrily, "You're not dragging me all the way over there!" She pushed out a tendril of her own. The two wispy, snake-like Manna trails met in mid air halfway between them. The colours bled into each other and mingled, feeding into each other's crystal vessels. At first, they both panicked, then fell into a state of almost catatonia. Slowly, the colours melded into one, until the vessels were filled with this same colour. They were totally lost and enraptured in this new sensation they were feeling.

They remained locked in this magical embrace for a long time.

___________________________________________

Asmodeus made his way through the corridors, Brachus in tow. Both of them were carrying maps of the Lands Above, hoping to figure out a route that would have them skirt around Bel-Pelar without hitting another pocket of Undead.

No-one noticed a shadowy figure slipping past them towards the Dungeon Heart.

The figure knew what was happening down there. And they were having none of it.

___________________________________________

Asmodeus and Brachus spread their maps across the Guard Room table. Their recently acquired Dark Elves watched with mild interest.

"Providing we can tail off to the east," said Brachus, "we should miss most of Bel-Pelar's natural caverns."

"And hit an Uplander garrison near the mountains," said Asmodeus impatiently.

"Ah."

"West is relatively clear of Uplander activity, at least under ground. We should be able to move through there without any problems."

"Sounds good to me. Remind me not to think of any plans and leave you to do all the talking."

Asmodeus scowled at Brachus. A scowl that quickly disappeared when he heard his Master's cry.

"NO!"

Flamuli's voice echoed through the entire dungeon, waking every creature and beast in every lair. Asmodeus and Brachus ran for the Dungeon Heart as fast as their legs would carry them. They jumped onto the membrane and descended together, somehow managing not to break the thing, and looked around the chamber. The sight that greeted them was the last thing that either Mentor had wanted to see.

Flamuli's form was utterly distraught as it stared at Jella, wielding a Troll's hammer, standing over the remains of Calisto's crystal chamber.

_________________________________________________


	14. The Cursed Land

Death to the High Lords 14:

Death to the High Lords 14:

The Cursed Land

Asmodeus and Brachus stood horrified, staring at Jella's face which was lit by Calisto's dissipating Manna.

"Flamuli…" Calisto's voice was hazy, almost distant. Her face was slowly melting away.

Keepers do not have tears. If Flamuli had, they probably never would have been shed except on this day. He stared at Calisto his mouth agape, his eyes wide and troubled. He had never experienced the sensation of sadness before. He did not know what it was until now.

"Calisto, I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely.

"It matters not," said Calisto sadly, "I conquered you completely this time, though not in a way I ever could have imagined."

Flamuli shook his head. "Come into my chamber. There's still time."

"No, Flamuli," said Calisto, her voice now a mere echo, "It is meant to be this way. You are the last of our kind. Destroy the Avatar…in memory…of me." Only her eyes remained in view as the last of her energy was fading away. Asmodeus and Brachus watched sadly as Flamuli began to shake inside his crystal chamber.

Flamuli looked up, his face suddenly full of anger and vengeance. He stared at Jella, who backed away hefting the hammer she had stolen. "Don't come anywhere near me, Flamuli, or you'll get the same!"

The crystal chamber began to shake. Cracks began to appear in it, much to Asmodeus' alarm. "No, Master! I will not risk losing you as well!"

Suddenly, the chamber exploded sending a shower of razor sharp crystal shards straight at Jella. The Dark Mistress was pierced in dozens of places and was dead before she hit the floor. Asmodeus and Brachus lay on the floor unharmed, the fragments flying harmlessly over them.

As the chamber destroyed itself, Flamuli's essence filled the chamber, mingling with the dying fragments of Calisto's own energies. They blended together, creating a purple mass of energy which began to coalesce into a vague humanoid shape. As the shape's head formed, eyes appeared, one red, the other a vivid blue. The rest of the mass remained purple, the energies swirling to hold the shape together. A slit appeared a little way below the eyes and spread itself into a broad grin. The voice that uttered when it spoke was the voice of two beings.

"Asmodeus. Brachus. Now you _will_ have to answer to both of us!"

The two Mentors stared dumbfounded at the new Keeper standing before them. "Master?" said Asmodeus.

"Mistress?" said Brachus.

"One and the same. We work as one with our combined powers. We will still feed of the manna embedded in the land, but we will no longer need a chamber to hold the power together. Two heads are, it seems, better than one. It is what we were destined to become. We are surprised it didn't happen sooner."

"How should we refer to you as a whole, erm…" Asmodeus' voice trailed off helplessly, not expecting to serve a master who was both male and female.

"We had thought a combination of our names would be useful, but have decided against it due to the confusion it is bound to cause. Therefor, refer to us as simply Keeper. For now."

Asmodeus and Brachus nodded. There was no answer to that.

"What is it you wish of us, Keeper?" said Brachus smoothly.

The Keeper grinned. "We like a fast learner. We also understand that we came very close to capturing the Reaper at Bel-Pelar."

"Well, came close to encountering him, Keeper," said Asmodeus, "He is beyond capture without some magical aid to restrain him."

"Indeed," said the Keeper, "That is why we must find out where whoever summoned the Reaper is keeping the talisman."

"But the talisman was destroyed, Keeper," said Brachus plaintively.

"Either it was reformed, or a new one was manufactured. If it is a new talisman, then it will not have the power to send him back to his domain. As there have been no other sightings except at Bel-Pelar, we can assume that it is the original."

"Sound reasoning, Keeper, but how are we to know where it is or who has it?"

The Keeper strode around the chamber, revelling in the freedom it's new form gave it. "By watching out for where the Reaper will strike next. If Bel-Pelar was destroyed, then there is only one possible target for it's controller now."

"Of course," said Asmodeus.

"Where?" asked Brachus.

Asmodeus looked at Brachus, then at the Keeper. "Skybird Trill."

______________________________________________

The troop of horses made their way up the mountain pass, avoided the bubbling pits of sulphur and molten lava that scoured the land. Brandicor was at the head, with Melkum riding alongside him. The Avatar seemed unusually calm in the face of the utter desolation and chaos that greeted him in the Fairlands. For Fairlands they were no more, the very earth itself blighted and cursed by years of Dark Magic and merciless destruction.

Looming ahead of them, the broken ruins of Skybird Trill, once proud stronghold of the Uplanders, and the seat of Brandicor's predecessor. Nothing lived in this wasteland; no birdsong could be heard as the sun rose and tried to break through the seemingly never ending clouds of black smoke. The stink of sulphur and brimstone made many soldiers wretch. Brandicor sniffed the air as though it were the freshest he had ever breathed.

"Not long now, Melkum," he said companionably, "Soon we will be walking through the gates of Skybird Trill to reclaim my birthright."

"Yes, Highness," said Melkum, his voice the essence of defeat. He knew, of course, that Brandicor had no blood ties to the Avatar whatsoever, but he chose to agree in order to keep his head on his shoulders. He had not seen Grell for nearly a week, and he had resigned himself to being the last of the Court Magicians. Under someone like Brandicor, this was a good position to be in. You knew that you were not easy to replace.

"Yes, once more, the people will come back here and enjoy a peaceful and prosperous reign under the watchful and protective eye of their ruler."

"It sounds wonderful, Highness," said Melkum automatically, even though he was thinking the exact opposite.

"How long before the builders finish their work, Melkum?"

"Those that have managed to stay without going mad or killing themselves have completed the inner city, Highness. It will be about four weeks before the outer walls are restored to their former glory."

"Very good," said Brandicor, smiling broadly, "Right on schedule." He clicked his tongue and his horse trotted ahead. Melkum tried to keep up with him.

"But Highness, what if Flamuli shows up? He has an insurmountable force. He has destroyed two towns in as many days."

"The Sunlit Kingdom does not concern me any more, Melkum. Once the cities have been evacuated, Flamuli can do what he likes to them."

"Highness, I must be frank. Moving to a barren region will only result in starvation and pestilence for the people under you. Do you really want that to happen to them?"

Brandicor stopped his horse. The troops continued to file past, having not received any orders to stop. "Do you know of the legend of the Avatar's Throne?"

"Of course, Highness. It is a very popular bedtime story."

"Well, I have reason to believe that the myth is actually true. The throne is hidden somewhere within the city, and I intend to find it and restore the land, just like the legend says."

"How do you know it will work, Highness?"

"I have my sources," said Brandicor, "And the necessary tools." He tapped his breastplate and winked. It was the ancient breastplate that had belonged to the original Avatar.

That's all very well, thought Melkum, but a lump of metal is not going to stop the lightning strike of a Mistress.

________________________________________________

Asmodeus and Brandicor stood either side of the Dungeon Heart, preparing to cast a teleportation spell that they had not had to cast themselves for many years. Normally it was left to the Warlocks to cast it, but as there were not enough in the Dungeon, it was up to the two Mentors.

"Are you sure about this, Asmodeus?" asked Brachus nervously. "I'm sure it takes four magic-users."

"We are worth ten of those pesky Warlocks," said Asmodeus impatiently.

Brachus shrugged. "If you say so."

"Less of the pesky," said a passing Warlock as he went to join his brother in the Casino.

Asmodeus huffed and began the incantation. A circle of green Manna appeared around the Dungeon Heart, which slowly spread upwards and covered the whole structure in a dome of energy. 

The dome absorbed Asmodeus and Brachus and disappeared in a blaze of magical light.

________________________________________________________


	15. Skybird Trill

Death to the High Lords 15:

Death to the High Lords 15:

Skybird Trill

The Dungeon Heart erupted into it's old home to be welcomed by thunderous applause. The army of Flamuli was standing around the previously empty Heart chamber, greeting their Master, not knowing what had happened on the outskirts of Bel-Pelar. So when the Keeper spoke to them, they were very surprised to hear the dual-voices.

"Greetings, my children. Or should I say our children. We have returned to see the destruction of Skybird Trill, which thrives with life on the surface once more. The new Avatar challenges our authority in these lands, and it is up to us to finish him and his line once and for all!"

A great cheer rang in the chamber at the Keeper's words. Dekara, the leader of the Dark Mistresses, Melithrion, leader of the Warlocks, Grunflig, leader of the Bile Demons, and Jung, leader of the Trolls, all stepped forward to pay homage to the Keeper. As they did so, Asmodeus and Brachus emerged through the membrane together, each clutching their tomes and ever-writing quills. They stepped down from the Heart to muttering from the assembled leaders.

"Don't worry," said Asmodeus, "I can explain everything. Meet us in our office in one hour."

And with that, Asmodeus and Brachus made their way to the study, the leaders' gaping at them, their chins almost touching their chests.

_____________________________________________

Asmodeus sat in his old throne, snuggling himself into it as though we were embracing an old friend. He smiled contentedly. It felt good to be back. Even better, they had something to do; kill that upstart pretender Brandicor. His knowledge of the architecture of Skybird Trill would prove an advantage in the battle to come.

Brachus was definitely in unknown territory, his Mistress having never dared cross paths with Flamuli when they were separate entities. Knowing the power that Flamuli had obtained in the capture of Skybird Trill and the death of the Avatar, they kept well away from the capital. Now, it seemed very strange to Brachus that he had entered the very passageways that he wanted to see razed to the ground a short time ago. The feeling of being allies was totally alien to him.

"If I remember rightly, there is a direct passageway to the surface via a destroyed hero gate that the Avatar had hidden here some years ago. That's how we ransacked the castle. With any luck Brandicor will not know of it's location, so we should be able to sneak our troops right onto his doorstep and crush the place. And, hopefully, him as well."

"I understand that the previous man to hold that title came down to face you," said Brachus.

"That is correct, but he was much stronger than the current Avatar. He took several creatures from my Master's army with him before he finally perished. And he had an army at his back the likes of which we have not seen for many years."

"So you don't think Brandicor would come down here like he did."

"No. He'll want to keep his feet warm and stay at home and wait for us to come knocking. What he doesn't know is that we will already be inside the castle."

Asmodeus and Brachus both grinned terribly.

"I think I'm going to enjoy working with you Asmodeus."

"Why thank you, Brachus. We certainly do see eye to eye on many things."

The laughter of the two Mentors echoed down the corridor as they prepared their plans for conquest.

______________________________________________

Some weeks later, Brandicor strode through the corridors of the castle at the centre of the massive principality of Skybird Trill, marvelling at the work the restorers had done to return it to it's former glory. The tapestries had been replaced, the floors re-laminated, the ceilings refurbished, and the windows all repaired and re-stained. He entered the main audience chamber, which he had converted into a throne room, and seated himself upon the golden throne of the Avatar. Melkum stood beside it, waiting for him.

"Highness," he said quietly, bowing his head respectfully.

"Melkum. I understand that the transformation of the land goes well."

"Indeed it does, Highness. We expect the land immediately around the city to be fertile within the next few days."

"Excellent. That will bring the people back. What of the troublesome spirits that haunt this city? Have they been removed?"

"The priestesses are working on it, Highness, but they are proving troublesome to shift. There are several groups who are hiding amongst the caverns near the mountains who do not wish to be found. They fear destruction, Highness."

"And well they might. They have no reason to hang on here."

"Yes, Highness."

"Any other news?"

"Yes, Highness. Flamuli is still holding fire on your borders. He does not seem to have made a move against you."

"Well, he'll have to. I'm certainly not budging. I have a little surprise for him for when he does eventually arrive." Brandicor smiled to himself at the thought. "Are our guests comfortable?"

"As comfortable as they can be under the circumstances, Highness."

"Good. Send word that they will be needed shortly."

"Yes, Highness."

Melkum left his master's side and hurried from the throne room, heading for the lower levels of the castle.

______________________________________________

Dekara, Melithrion, Grunflig, and Jung were waiting in the extensive Barracks room with their troops either sitting around or on the table. All seemed to be patient and expectant. Grunflig was almost falling asleep and Dekara had to slap him across the back of the head several times to stop him from rolling onto his side.

Asmodeus marched in, followed by Brachus who was dabbing sweat from his brow with a piece of cloth. They both stood on the table; Brachus left Asmodeus to do the talking.

"It seems that the Avatar does not wish to move against us, so we must invade his home turf. This will involve going above ground."

A murmur of disapproval passed through the crowd.

"I know how you feel about this, but we will be inside the castle walls, so there should not be any problems for any creatures sensitive to light. Undead will not be taking place in this battle unless absolutely necessary. One whiff of daylight on them will vaporise them, so they will be a last resort should things go badly wrong. I do not foresee this however. Dark Elves will not be involved for similar reasons, though the sunlight does not vaporise them but merely blind them, which will render them ineffective."

Nods were seen from the creatures generally. Others simply kept silent and still, preparing themselves for what was to come, and the possibility that they may not be coming back.

"Arm yourselves then. And with the Dark Gods on our side, we will triumph this day, and witness the total destruction of Humankind on the surface of this disgusting world!"

A tremendous battle cry met these last words, and Asmodeus looked proudly at his army. They had come so far together, and now they were finally reaching the end of a very long journey searching for conquest.

_______________________________________________

Brandicor marched through the corridors of Skybird Trill, his hands behind his back, twiddling his fingers. The smile on his face was the smile of the cat who had got the cream, the warrior who had found the weak spot in his opponent's armour and was watching the lifeblood spilling from his body. As he made his way to the courtyard where his armour awaited their orders, he felt that he had finally made the breakthrough that he had been waiting for against the oppression of the Keepers. Today, he would snuff out that influence forever.

He approached the double doors leading to the courtyard with a great swell to his chest. The pride in him almost overwhelmed him as he pushed open the doors and greeted his waiting troops.

_________________________________________________

The footsteps and boot-stomps were almost deafening in the almost cramped corridors of the Dungeon. Asmodeus led his troops towards the opening that they hoped still existed leading into the heart of Brandicor's castle.

They reached the northernmost point of the Dungeon, the corridor ending abruptly in a vast lake of water. A bridge began to form itself in front of them, and they marched across with purpose. Asmodeus absently checked the sword which he rarely carried on these sort of occasions, a finely crafted broadsword with a design of the Horned Reaper on the pommel. He smiled. He looked forward to using it on the surface when Brandicor lay dead in his own entrails.

They reached the other side of the lake and joined a dirt path, which Imps began claiming for their Master, and soon reached the makeshift staircase that led up into the castle. Asmodeus looked to his commanders and nodded. They ascended first, followed by their troops.

They emerged into a large, dimly lit room with several cells on each side. Torches barely burned in their brackets. Snuffling noises could be heard within the cells. Asmodeus squinted into the near shadows, trying to see what was inside the cells. He could not believe his eyes.

"Here be Dragons!" he whispered hoarsely.

And indeed there were, at least two dozen, all thought to be lost in the original attack on the castle, yet here they were, captured and tethered into submission.

"We have to release them," said Melithrion.

Asmodeus nodded and called the Trolls forward to hack at the locks. As they pounded on the metal, he began to wish that he had brought some Rogues back with him to pick the locks. They were creating too much noise, and he knew that someone would be alerted any moment. Then, as if in answer to his thoughts, he began to hear marching footsteps heading for the only pair of double doors in the huge chamber.

"Prepare yourselves," he hissed, drawing his sword.

The doors burst open. 

A mass of warriors marched in.

And Asmodeus and his troops stopped dead in their tracks.

For marching towards them was an army that Asmodeus had almost forgotten. An army that Flamuli no longer had any use for as he went into other lands and gained the aid of more powerful creatures.

The army of the Keeper was about to clash with a blast from the past.

They were being attacked by a legion of Orcs.

______________________________________________


	16. The Legions of the Damned

Death to the High Lords 16:

Death to the High Lords 16:

The Legions of the Damned

The Orcs charged at Asmodeus' waiting troops, their purple skin taught on their bones, their eyes sunken and bloodshot, their arms barely managing to find the strength to lift their mighty war-hammers.

The Mentor watched horrified as the tribes that had remained left behind and forgotten in the Fairlands rebelled against him. Never had he imagined that he would see this day. He called out to his Trolls to engage them, and a fierce battle between the hammer-wielding factions ensued, freeing up the Mistresses to counter another threat. What they did not account for was what came swooping through the double doors on the other side of the chamber.

Zalador, leader of the Dark Angels, and his four compatriots sped towards the battle. Asmodeus' hopes rose, thinking the odds were now more even. But when Zalador flew down and took off Dekara's head with one swipe from his broadsword, his smile slipped entirely from his face, replaced by a livid anger. He ran at Zalador as he landed and swiped his sword blindly at him. Zalador parried the blow easily and kicked Asmodeus in the stomach, sending him winded and sprawling to the chamber floor.

"We told you we do not serve the Dark Gods, Asmodeus. We serve the Legions of the Damned, the ones you see before you now."

Asmodeus looked around at the starved, blood-thirsty Orcs pummelling a swathe through the less experienced Trolls. These cannot be the Legions of the Damned, he thought. There must be something more than this behind it all. "Why did you help us in the caverns?" he asked numbly. He had to know.

Zalador lazily hacked down a Dark Mistress that tried to slash him across the back. "Because our Master told us to lead you towards him. And if that meant helping you so that you would survive, so be it."

"You said you did not have a Master!" Asmodeus tried to stand up, but Zalador pressed his boot against the Mentor's chest, holding him down.

"I lied," said the Dark Angel with a sly grin. He looked up. Asmodeus followed his gaze to a balcony at the top of the chamber with a pair of closed curtains at the entrance. The curtains were thrown aside, and there stood Brandicor, resplendent in the red livery and golden breastplate of the Avatar. The armour shone brightly in the torchlight, giving him an almost saintly appearance. The look of triumph on his face belied any saintly intentions however.

"Welcome back, Asmodeus," he shouted in his booming voice, a grin cresting his noble chin. He held the bucket shaped golden helm under his arm. The jewel-encrusted sword hung at his hip in it's scabbard.

"Brandicor," whispered Asmodeus in disbelief.

"The Legions of the Damned," the Avatar continued, "Such an appropriate name for this band of savages that I found wondering through the wastelands. Your Master left them behind to defend his greatest gain, not knowing that they would soon be close to starvation."

The battle raged on, and Asmodeus' troops were backing themselves into a wall, trying to hold off the Orcs.

"You see," said Brandicor, "After the defeat of King Reginald, I escaped the Sunlit Kingdom through some of the forgotten passageways beneath it, following them until I reached the Temple of the Dark Angels. The gates seemed to open for me, and when I went in, there was Zalador, waiting for me with an offer I could not refuse.

"He asked me if I wanted revenge against you and your Master. I said that I did, more than anything else. At least, at the time. So they were kind enough to help me out with something that I had in my knapsack."

Brandicor reached into his breastplate and pulled out an iron chain.

On the chain was the Talisman of the Horned Reaper.

"I waited years to use it. But I could not use it on you because you still commanded some loyalty from the Reaper after the King's demise. So I had to get you in the position where you were stripped to the bare bones, where the Horned One could no longer have an interest in you. Then I tested it."

"At Bel-Pelar," said Asmodeus, mostly with disgust, but also with an underlying admiration.

"Of course. Zalador and his people demand a sacrifice, and they told me that the Horned Reaper would satisfy any obligations outside the walls of the Temple. Besides, the Messengers Guild was too risky to maintain. They could not be relied upon to deliver during a crisis like your return. So I thought it best to…give them an early retirement."

Asmodeus smiled. That was just the sort of touch he would have come up with. "I'm impressed, Highness. So, what do you intend to do with the talisman now?"

"Provide Zalador with his sacrifice of course." Brandicor held the Talisman aloft. "Cadaverus Reapus!"

There was a burst of fire, which radiated out into a circle of flame. Manna spiralled upwards from the centre, forming a fireball from which emerged the blade of a scythe. The hand holding the handle was red and scaly, and the arm and body following it was a figure from nightmare. The Horned Reaper roared, holding the scythe aloft, his metal clad cloven hooves astride the flames as they died away.

Both armies stopped fighting and saw the massive figure look around at the creatures around him, his glowing yellow eyes sizing up his opposition.

Zalador laughed wickedly and flew up to the balcony to join Brandicor who clutched the talisman in his hand.

"Kill them all!" yelled Brandicor, holding the talisman up so the Reaper could see it.

"Yes, my Master," he said, his voice a deep, rumbling, crackling sound like an imminent thunder storm. He bared his huge teeth and launched himself at the nearest creature.

What followed was utter carnage. Bodies flew apart in front of his advance as he swung his scythe from left to right, like a farmer cutting down corn. Asmodeus crawled his way through the crowd towards his own troops, ignoring the cries of despair from the Orcs, and the roars of the Dragons that were now fully awake in their cells.

He scrambled up as he reached the two Dark Mistresses that were left. All the creatures in the chamber were fighting bravely against a creature that everyone knew was indestructible. The Reaper was halfway across the chamber, shrugging off hammer blows and lightning bolts. Brandicor simply looked on with an amused look on his face. Asmodeus was boiling with anger at the idea of being outclassed by someone who his behind the guise of the greatest hero the Uplanders ever had. He gripped his sword, wishing that he could reach the Avatar and take at least one good swing at him.

He turned to Melithrion. "Blast that balcony!"

Melithrion gaped at the Mentor. "What for? To set the Dark Angels upon us as well?"

"At least Brandicor will be forced to fight! And he'll have the Orcs to contend with as well."

"Not for much longer, he won't!" Melithrion gestured at the Reaper's work piled up behind the rampaging creature. "They're nearly all dead!"

"Just do it!"

Melithrion summoned his energies and shot a large fireball at the support strut of the balcony. The right hand side of the balcony tipped over, sending Brandicor toppling over sideways. In trying to grab the side of the balcony to hold on, the chain holding the talisman snapped. He tried to grip it, but it slipped out of his hand and fell along with his helmet to the chamber floor below.

The helmet landed on top of the talisman with a clang, standing perfectly upright and hiding the talisman. Asmodeus saw his chance and started for the helm. Zalador spotted him and sneered, and nodded at one of his brethren to fetch the talisman. The Dark Angel swooped down from the safety of the ceiling and swung his broadsword at Asmodeus who managed to roll out of the way. The sword knocked the helmet aside, exposing the talisman.

Brandicor saw the talisman lying on the ground and let go of the balcony. He landed heavily next to the talisman, rolling with the impact and landed scant feet away from it. Asmodeus and the Avatar made a grab for it and they both ended up gripping it, trying to wrestle it from each other's grasp.

The Reaper had finished with the Orcs, all of whom were lying in pieces in the chamber. The smell was unholy and seemed to be making the Reaper even angrier.

Zalador was watching the struggle between Mentor and Avatar with uncertainty. He could not risk damage to the talisman by hurling a spell, nor could he attack them for the same reason.

Asmodeus and Brandicor were now rolling around on the floor, the talisman still clasped between them. Sweat had broken out on both their foreheads, their fingers becoming slippery. After a titanic effort, Asmodeus pulled with all his might only for the talisman to fly off into the battling crowd.

Brandicor scooped up his helmet and slipped it over his head. Now he looked every inch like the Avatar. He drew his sword and said, "End of the line for you, Asmodeus. Another illustrious career comes to an end."

Brandicor raised his sword above his head, ready to deliver the killer blow. It swung down, Asmodeus closing his eyes.

Another blade stopped the blow from landing. Asmodeus opened his eyes and saw Zalador blocking Brandicor's blade.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Brandicor through gritted teeth.

"A sacrifice we did indeed demand, Highness. But not at the expense of our people." Zalador glanced down at Asmodeus. "You have earned a reprieve from the Legion. Go and claim your prize."

Asmodeus scrambled to his feet, picking up his sword and running into the crowd. He pushed and shoved aside his own men and found himself face to chest with the Horned Reaper. The Reaper growled down at him, "Traitor!" before swinging his scythe down. The blade sank into flagstone as Asmodeus dodged aside. The reaper pursued him, giving the remaining troops of the Keeper time to recoup and encircle the Reaper. Asmodeus spotted the talisman as the troops moved aside. He ducked another swing from the scythe and slid on his stomach along the floor.

"NO!" cried Brandicor as Asmodeus snatched up the talisman and held it up in front of him like a shield. The Reaper stopped dead in his tracks and a heavy silence descended on the chamber.

He considered the talisman closely. Then he looked at Asmodeus. His burning eyes bored into the Mentor's. Even Zalador and Brandicor had stopped fighting briefly to watch the scene.

The Reaper grinned and moved his taloned hands on the scythe blade. "You did not summon me." He lifted the scythe blade, poised to strike the Mentor down. Then, a pair of apparently insubstantial arms grappled with the Reaper, pulling him backwards with great force.

"That's my Mentor you're threatening!" said a familiar pair of voices.

The Keeper was grappling with the Reaper, the Horned One trying desperately to hold on to the scythe. Asmodeus could not believe his eyes.

"Keeper!" cried Asmodeus, "How?"

"No time for explanations, Asmodeus. Destroy the amulet!"

"But Keeper…"

"Do it, Asmodeus!"

Brandicor took advantage in the lull in the battle to thrust his blade deep into Zalador's midriff. The Dark Angel cried out in agony and slumped to his knees. Brandicor pulled his sword out of the wound, leaving a weakened and shuddering Zalador. The other Dark Angels swooped down to defend their leader, but kept a wary distance from the Avatar.

Asmodeus picked up the nearest war-hammer and placed the talisman on the ground in front of him. He hefted the heavy weapon, hardly able to lift it over his head.

"Too weak!" shouted Brandicor as he slowly made his way towards the Mentor, keeping a watchful eye on the Dark Angels, "Always too weak to finish the job. That's been your trademark all the way through this campaign, Asmodeus. You've failed! No-one is strong enough in your army any more! I've won!"

Asmodeus felt the words sink into him like sword strokes, cutting his resolve and his stamina. He dropped the war-hammer and wandered over to the side of the chamber, near one of the cells. "Not quite yet, Highness." He lifted a pale arm and pulled a lever on the wall. The cell doors slowly opened.

The Dragons, finally unleashed after years of imprisonment, slunk out of their cells, looking extremely angry and making a bee-line for the Avatar. Brandicor began to panic, now being faced on two sides by hostile forces. He ran for the talisman. Asmodeus kicked it and sent it skittering along the floor towards the warring Keeper and Reaper. It slid to a halt between them. The Keeper snatched it up.

"We have it!" the Keeper cried triumphantly.

The Reaper snatched at it. "Give it to me!"

"No, Reaper! Not this time!"

The Keeper crushed it in it's insubstantial fist.

The dust of what was once the Talisman of the Horned Reaper swirled out of the Keeper's hand and became a small whirlwind that surrounded the Reaper. The Reaper cried out in anger and despair as he was consumed in a fireball which radiated out into a circle of flame. The Keeper faded into a few shards of Manna which slowly dissipated in the air as the circle slipped out of sight.

Brandicor was dumbfounded at the sight. He stared at the glowing form of the Keeper. "Flamuli..?"

"And Calisto both!" shouted the Keeper, "But you can call me Keeper. Or sir, seeing as you are about to beg for your life. The Dark Angels look none to pleased with you, and I daresay the remains of my armour have a bone to pick with you. If you'll pardon the expression."

The Keeper turned to the Dragons. "Welcome back, Firethorn. It pleases me to welcome you back to the ranks."

The only Dragon crested with a pair of golden horns bowed before his Keeper.

Brandicor looked around frantically, desperately trying to find a way out, or even some support. There was neither. "Wait!" he pleaded, "I'll give you everything, Keeper! Everything! The land, the towns, the cities!" Creatures and beings were closing relentlessly in an ever tightening circle.

"Brandicor…your _lordship_! I want nothing from you that I would have much more fun taking away!" The Keeper smiled wickedly.

The despair on Brandicor's face became mulish anger. He swung the Avatar's sword around in a wide arc. Few were of the persuasion to avoid it. And as the beasts of the Underworld finally became too numerous to hold off with a few sword swings, Brandicor, Highest of the High Lords, Avatar of the Sunlight Kingdom, met his gruesome and untimely end.

__________________________________________


	17. Epilogue

Death to the High Lords 17:

Death to the High Lords 17:

Epilogue

As the last stones of Skybird Trill came hurtling towards the ground, and the distasteful statue of Avatar Brandicor had been vandalised beyond recognition, the survivors of the Battle of Skybird Trill whooped in delight and celebration. The rounded up city folk quaked in terror in their chains and ropes, not daring to think what may happen to them now.

Asmodeus and Brachus stood surveying the work of their Trolls.

"Well," said Brachus, "That's it, then. No more lands to conquer. The remaining High Lords would have fled into hiding by now."

"Don't worry," said Asmodeus, "We'll find them."

They watched as the city folk were being led towards some gallows and several guillotines which the Trolls and Bile Demons were studiously building.

"And what of the Keeper? Is this their official retirement?"

Asmodeus smiled. "Not according to them. The Keeper is already looking into the possibilities if inter-dimensional travel."

Brachus frowned deeply at the idea. "Sounds dangerous."

"No," said Asmodeus simply, "We do not walk into danger. We walk alongside it, taking it with us wherever we go. And if we are going elsewhere for other conquests, in other worlds, then I will gladly follow my Master."

"As I would gladly follow my Mistress."

"Then we have little choice in the matter."

"Yes. Especially if we don't want to end up being a decoration hanging on the crumbling city walls in front of us."

Brachus nodded sagely. This seemed sound reasoning to someone in their position.

The sky darkened with the smoke from the fire pits. Sulphurous gases spewed into the air. The screams of the dying rent the air. And in the centre of it all stood the Keeper, resplendent in all it's aura like finery.

The Keeper looked up into the smoke filled sky and saw a large, red, maelstrom like vortex appear in the skies, swirling round slowly like water disappearing down a drain. It smiled. A sure sign of the pleasure of the Dark Gods, he thought.

"Today, the Sunlit Kingdoms. Tomorrow…?" the Keeper mused.

It looked out at the land that it had created. "Asmodeus! Brachus!"

The Mentors approached the Keeper obediently and chorused, "Yes, Keeper?"

The Keeper looked down at them and grinned evilly. "How do you fancy going on a little trip?"

Asmodeus and Brachus bowed low before the Keeper and exchanged a meaningful glance. On the one hand, it was a journey fraught with danger. On the other, they could not allow their Keeper to get bored.

And anyway. What else was there to do but conquer?

____________________________________________________

THE END


End file.
